#still love bran new kiss with all my heart

[radiowallet]

Meant to Be - Epilogue

The Endearment

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Fem!OC (nameless, third person), Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand, Ellaria Sand x Fem!OC (nameless, third person) Summary: Time marches on. WC: 1.5K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Canon-typical violence, grief, death, political intrigue, arranged marriage, soulmate shenanigans, drinking, the barest hints of pregnancy, female on female dynamics, oral sex (female receiving). Oberyn Martell comes with his own warning.

A/N: This is it! The last chapter! I'm surprisingly emotional for this one to end and I really can't explain it. Please look to the end for more notes. As always, a few things to keep in mind: This is an alternate universe that takes place after the main events of the show. Bran is still king of Westeros. Sansa is still queen of the north. Oberyn lives. Doran never had any children. Our Fem!OC is from Winterfell, but she is not a Stark and is a blank canvas physically.

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~~Please see dedications at the end~~

Masterlist II Series Masterlist

Part 5 <<<

Endearing and sweet

Mine and yours

I hold your kiss on my lips

And my heart in your hands

Time is not always enough to heal. Some wounds are too deep, muscle and bone and blood unable to grow again over the gaping pain of loss. A sister and brother taken too soon are always a lingering scab across Oberyn Martell’s heart, and on the worst of days those wounds break open, and the treacherous concept of time starts all over. 

But it does lend itself well to building something new. Sometimes something unexpected. 

Oberyn leans back in his chair, head tilting to rest along the high back, crossing his legs and casting an eye out of the wide window framing the great hall, noting the position of the sun. Morning is nearly over, and despite his requests from the meeting the day prior, this council meeting is decidedly not. He sighs, loudly, before reaching for his cup, chasing his annoyance with a heavy slurp of wine. 

“And with this year’s tax revenu—“

“I do believe,” he nearly shouts, trying and failing not to slam his cup down, “we went over these numbers just yesterday, is this not correct, Lord Daemon?”

The other man tries and fails to hide his fear, looking up from the scroll spread open in front of him and immediately shrinking back in his chair. “I think there may have been some o-overlap in our agendas, my lord.”

“This entire meeting has been nothing but overlap,” Oberyn continues, his demeanor shifting from bored to deadly in the blink of an eye.

“It felt prudent. His lordship will be gone for some time and we wanted to be prepared.”

Oberyn stands then, the legs of his chair scraping loudly across the floor, and he delights in the wave of discomfort that filters through his council. 

“Let us consider you all prepared. My wife is waiting for me.” 

He pays no mind to the raise of voices, the members of his council clearly convinced no good could come from his absence. Oberyn was nonplussed, ignoring their outcry as he made his way back to his quarters. She truly was waiting for him, and he was eager to be back at her side. 

The visit north he had promised had been put on hold after Doran’s passing, the task of assuming his duties as Lord of Sunspear much more insistent upon his time than he cared for. She had handled the news with the same grace and duty he had come to know and love, standing at his side through it all. He could see now why Sansa Stark valued her friendship along with her support, and it was just another way he counted himself grateful that all manners of fate and choice brought them together. 

Things were settled now, the transition from one brother to the next complete. The strength of Dorne held true, unbroken and unbent, the sandy shores living on in peace. Oberyn felt more secure in the standing of his homeland, and though he did not relish the drop in temperature, he was pleased that he was finally making good on this one promise. 

Trunks were packed and loaded into the carriage, all manner of cloaks and fur lined fabrics stored safely away for the trip. Oberyn’s wardrobe had been distinctly lacking in that regard, but she was quick to a solution, the palace dressmakers tasked with her very specific requests.  

He had snapped his teeth at the idea of it — heavy fabric and brass buttons, his coat cinched tight around his waist and up the column of his throat. But she somehow found a way to turn his eye, standing behind him as the finishing touches were made on a rich red cloak. He cut an imposing figure, the shade almost violent, the symbol of Sunspear stitched into the fabric. 

He could feel her smile burning with pride as she brushed her hands along the wide expanse of his shoulders, her artistic fingers sending shivers down his spine. 

“The color is a bit unorthodox for northern customs,” he had teased, even as he preened before the mirror, back straightening and chest puffing out. She took his tone in stride, lips pressing hot and wet just behind his ear, her hungry eyes glued to his in the looking glass. 

“We do not see many vipers in the North. Allow me to present mine as I see fit.”

Oberyn moves his feet a touch faster, the memory of that day spurring him on. They had dismissed the seamstress with barely a glance, too busy stripping one another bare, and laying down together across the ruby red fabric. Oberyn can still feel the press of her lips as she whispered all the ways she intended to keep him warm between the stone walls of Winterfell as he fucked into her tight heat. 

Their union had strengthened ten fold over the passing months, even as the responsibilities of leadership came to rest upon their shoulders. Her mark upon him had spread easily, complimenting him but never changing. Everywhere he looked he could see her imprint upon his life. Her own throne beside his, her paintings hung on the walls, her moans painting their sheets. 

And in kind, she carries his marks with the same glow of pride. Books of poetry littered her desk, plum wine stained her lips, little pieces of himself left behind in her heart. 

True to their promises all that time ago, he was free to seek out time and pleasure on his own, but he found he preferred it best when she or Ellaria joined him. He still remembers with a spiteful sense of glee how members of his council had mentioned seeing the Lord and Lady of Sunspear walk arm and arm into one of the more luxurious bathhouses. 

It seemed the fates knew a thing or two, gifting him a match with just as voracious an appetite. 

But more and more he found himself content to remain closer to home, his bed there as full as his heart. It’s overly sentimental and he rolls his eyes at it all on his own, but it does not stop his heart from picking up speed when he reaches the door of their chambers. 

The sight that greets him on the other side is not exactly that of a woman who had assured him she would be ready to leave upon his return. 

But he cannot find it in himself to be vexed. 

Not when what he sees is so stunning. 

His soul’s match is laying back amongst the plush dressings of their bed, her body bare and her legs spread wide. She’s twisting back and forth, eyes closed and lips parted, begging for more more more in a way that his own groan slipping out to join her own, the unforgiving leather of his britches suddenly too tight. 

Ellaria is a generous lover, quick to meet his wife’s request and Oberyn steps closer just as one of her elegant fingers slides up inside her fluttering entrance, her lips never breaking away from that beautiful bundle of nerves.

It had been a natural progression, the two of them finding their way to each other. It was as seamless as two people walking together, their arms locked, and fingers laced, until finally they moved together as one, sides pressed together and cheeks on shoulders, closer than close and a sight to be held. 

Oberyn feels a foolish man for ever thinking there was a choice to be made. 

He does not go unnoticed for long, her eyelashes fluttering open, feverish eyes finding him and he is quick to move to her side, cupping the curve of her cheek in his palm. 

“Am I to assume we will be leaving late?” 

She smiles for him, nuzzling into his touch, but all words are stolen by Ellaria’s own lips pulling away. 

“Do not be mad at her, my love. We were restless and she looked so beautiful in the bath. I could not help myself.” 

Oberyn hums in agreement, letting his fingers trail down the column of her neck, squeezing gently, just enough to feel the gasp as it leaves her. He holds her gaze as his touch moves further down, up and over the peak of her breast until his hand rests along the slight swell of her belly, just starting to show with the promise of new life. 

“You are right as alway, my paramour. Our little wolf can be so hard to resist.” 

“Will you join us?” Ellaria asks the question sweetly, each word coated in honey, her dark eyes watching from where she rests her cheek along her thigh, two fingers now moving slowly in and out of her cunt. “Or must we leave her so unsatisfied?”

He smirks down at the two of them, before making a show of untying his robe and letting it fall to the floor. He could play coy, and insist they leave at once, but he knows there would be little use in denying either of them anything. 

He lets the last of his clothing fall away before he slides into bed beside her, his hand drifting low enough to join Ellaria’s, her cries for more finally answered. 

“I suppose not,” he murmurs, before pressing his lips to hers, always eager for the taste of her kiss. 

A taste he thought he had only dreamed.

———

A/N: If you told me my bingo card for the end of 2022 had writing a Game of Thrones fanfic, I do not think I would believe you. But I am so proud of myself for stepping out of my comfort zone, for trying out tropes that I don't normally seek out, and for taking on a new writing style in the fanfic space. I feel like I learned a lot in this process and I think I grew as a writer. I have had so much fun and trust me, this is a world I could see myself revisiting if the right prompt or request tickled my fancy. 🖤

Dedications: I have said this many times before, but it remains true: stories like this do not happen in a vacuum. I am so very grateful for the community here that has supported me through this and all of my writing. To every reader out there, thank you! Endlessly! Your support means more to me than I will ever be able to coherently explain.

To my dearest @astroboots who didn't blink an eye when I started spouting nonsense about Oberyn and arranged marriages and soulmates, she simply replied "Write it." You never let me think I can't do anything I set my sights on, and I love you.

To @magpie-to-the-morning who supported all of my love for this cheeky prince and who I sent blocks of smut to completely unprompted. You took it all in stride and begged me for more and your enthusiasm made me feel higher than high! Thank you so much!

And to my wonderful wife and Ellaria Sand's biggest fan @jazzelsaur You read every chapter. You listened to GoT facts you never thought you would learn. You laughed with me and and encouraged me and helped push me to make this story better than I ever thought it could be. I love you and I would be lost without you.

[weed-ols]

Reviewing Every UKISS Release: By Unpopular Demand ~ Bran New KISS

Oh my goodness I remember this because it came out right before my birthday, and at a pretty sensitive age too, this mini album has always been super special to me (let's ignore the fanwars). And this lineup is honestly so near and dear to my heart, like it really does just put a smile on my face.

Bran New KISS | 5th Mini Album | 2011.03.30

Oh, the fanwars...if you watch any 2011 or earlier videos of them, there's bound to be people going at it in the comment section, what with the Xander/Kibum fighters and the Hoon/AJ defenders. It was really nasty too because NH gave some limp excuses for their departure, only to immediately be refuted by them, and it became really obvious that they were kicked out, rather than having voluntarily left.

I was personally a Hoon/AJ defender, not that I actively participated, but I was always liking comments about them. I wasn't one for any real reason, I just thought that AJ was really hot and Hoon quickly endeared himself by virtue of his singing and being funny.

AJ, or as I sometimes jokingly call him, NH's golden child, was put into UKISS because Paran was basically done, and NH probably still had his contract and wanted to make the most out of their investment. Plus, he was quite literally the right age for it since he's one of the many '91 liners.

Hoon was a ballad soloist who auditioned for NH and then got put in with the group, despite having never taken a dance class before and having to do like a 5-month crash course in it.

The way this lineup change was done is really foul and horrible of NH, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't push the group forward. I still don't think it was necessary to kick Xander and Kibum out, but AJ and Hoon were absolutely necessary. Hoon's addition basically changed most songs from Soohyun/Kevin duets to a trio now, and also opening up the possibilities of doing ballads and more vocal-heavy songs, while AJ was/is a better rapper than the others, plus he could double as a decent sub-vocalist.

As much as I hate NH and think they're stupid and useless and incompetent, they really did something when assembling this new vocal line for the group. All of their vocal tones work well together, and I honestly don't think there's a combination of Soohyun/Kevin/Hoon/Kiseop/AJ that could sound bad.

But yeah, I could go on forever about this, so I'll stop here and continue on afterward. Gone are the woman-hating bad boys in thick guyliner and complicated hairdos, our boys were back as nice sweet good boys in cute sweaters and argyle socks.

Intro (It's Time) | YouTube Music 21k | Spotify 11k

Vocal line intro!!!!

Okay I'll be fair, it's mostly Soohyun and Kevin with a verse from Hoon, and a couple lines of Kiseop

I love the Kevin to Hoon verse when they get to sing like that, their voices are like disgustingly sweet when heard back-to-back

I also love the build from Kevin -> Hoon -> Soohyun -> Kevin -> Soohyun with the swelling music

And Kiseop finishing off the song with his delicate little voice

Going from Shut Up!! to this is honestly so jarring

The autotune and music really took away the power in Soohyun's and Kevin's voices in previous releases, but you can hear them very clearly here

8.5/10 I kinda wish there was an extra 10-15 seconds to let the music hit its peak, coast a bit, then fall because it feels a little abrupt right now

0330 (Audio) | YouTube Music 37M | Spotify 3.5M

Can we talk about the song being 0330, releasing on 03.30 and being a 3:30 song?

"MORDNY PRESENT" you know it's a banger (also yes, I finally figured out what it is, I think)

Hoon starting their title track as a brand new member after such a contentious lineup change is kinda iconic

Followed immediately by AJ's rap, which is almost too aggressive for this song

Didn't he write the raps for this? Or did he just write his own part? Anyway, his first release with UKISS and he gets a songwriting credit

I always thought there was more singing in this, but it's really just 4 choruses interwoven with 3 raps

You know they didn't know where to give Kiseop his singular line, and that's why they dragged it out to be sung with the first half of Eli's rap

Having the choruses go from Hoon -> Soohyun -> Kevin -> vocal troika is pretty interesting

Weep a little bit with Hoon, get bitter with Soohyun, weep again with Kevin, then feel confused because all of them are singing together

"Don’t deny our r²π" care to explain this, AJ? I don't actually know if he wrote this, but I'm gonna say it's him

Nah I'm joking I get the meaning of it, but it's still a hilarious line to have in a ballad, and he always raps it with such conviction

It's timeless it's iconic it has an urbandictionary entry, which is pretty much how I think UKISS deserves to be immortalized

That last chorus where Soohyun's just belting his little heart out and adlibbing to hell and back while Hoon and Kevin have to sadly sing? Incredible

Peak crying in the club music - it's a nice mid-tempo ballad with ultra weepy romantic lyrics

So what I'm saying is this is the predecessor of Fall in Love

I was also so obsessed with the piano sheet and so mad I never asked my parents for piano lessons

Can I just say I thought this was soooo deep when it came out, it was on all of my sad playlists? This is peak moody tween girl music (affectionate)

It went platinum in my room, what can I say?

Also this just solidifies my hypothesis that UKISS is at their best when they're desperate and begging

9/10 an absolute iconic piece of history. To not only completely switch genres and images, but also have controversial member changes, this was incredible.

0330 (MV) | Official upload 19M

The days of boy group cinema, huh

Going back to their roots, they have now returned the concept of plot to their MV, rather than have the super low budget dance and brooding solo shots

We got multiple sets, dramatic confrontation, piano in the forest, and most importantly, rotary phone

We also got them in school uniforms, which is actually like the only time they've worn them outside of a couple of gag sketches

Eli, doing normal people things and watching Dongho sleep

It's okay it was just practice for Stalker

Also this was such a bad hairstyle for him like whyyyy is it so choppy??

Gone is the warehouse, they're now in The Loft!!!

Sorry Kiseop but they cut you out of the frame here because the piano is extremely important

Also is Kevin leaning on the piano keys? That must've so annoying

I like the random ladder thing AJ's sitting on like where does it go?

The way that this is set up looks like they're staging an intervention for Dongho

I like the casual outfits here, they all look cute and friendly and like they're not gonna shout "bad girl" at me

Hoon is probably the standout here, his shirt really suits him and those jeans are really nice

Kevin's cardigan looks warm I want it

"Two grown adults violently jump teenager"

Wait are those the uniforms they wore for that one JP fanclub event? Or are these just like the number one rental school uniforms for idols?

It's such a meet cute aww

Caught in the rain at the bus stop, gets wet, and offers her a towel

The dance parts feel so out of place but also super iconic too

Some more casual looks, I like the black/white/grey scheme going on here

Soohyun's jacket is really nice

Better shot of their intervention, and of the random lamp in the background

Yeah they all look like nice good boys your parents would approve of, except maybe for Kiseop's hair

Eli kinda looks like the guy who dresses rough but is still very nice

Oh no I assigned them school romcom personalities

This was and still is so stinking cute

And the way she just looks at him afterward cracks me up

AJ and Eli, third-wheeling their date

Why is Eli just holding his laptop like that? Why do they look like disappointed parents? Why is AJ patting him on the shoulder with his furthest hand?

Piano date in The Loft while the two oldest look on in vague disappointment

The way Soohyun just leaves and we cut to a very disappointed Hoon watching by the window

You walk into a cafe and see 6 vaguely disappointed guys watching their friend on the rotary phone, what you do?

The rotary phone is so funny like this is 2011 nobody's used a rotary phone in years, and even corded home phones were becoming old-fashioned

There's an energy to this screencap that I can't quite describe

I also feel like the dynamic is usually the other way around, and Kevin trying to stop Soohyun from doing something

Also lol the way he dramatically pulls his earbuds out

Look, I really love my wireless earbuds, but there's something so extra about the corded ones, it's like flicking shut a flip phone

Eli!!! Has!!! Had!! It!!! He's gonna go confront the little twerp!!!!

Let him go, Kevin!!!! Eli has words to say!!!

And there was nobody on the phone

Intervention pt. 2 featuring Eli and Kiseop speaking some sense into this boy

And we're given the implication that she's dead

Honestly, this was high art for little tweenie me. This was a cinematic experience in 4 minutes

So yeah poor baby Dongho breaks down, while we're treated to shots of his very concerned-looking buddies

The rooftop shots are so funny they're so dramatic

I wish we had more time of Dongho's breakdown and recovery, but yeah he recovers pretty fast from that traumatic realization

9/10 I don't know what else to say, it's cinema. We had a whole story told, some great supporting actors in the furniture, no horrific styling, it was great

0330 (Stages) | Highest viewed 580k (Fan upload)

Highest official is 319k Inkigayo. so let's watch that

Oh my god all those Korean comments from a few years ago that's so cute

Actually, scrolling through the comments, I think most the views and comments are from 2020+?

The piano miming at the start had me in a chokehold as a kid, and I still think it's really cute now

Once again, I love a good circle moment

And the cute little hop when they get in position

So simple but so cool to look at

Kinda reminds me of how kids play that security guard game on the playground where they all bunch around and protect one of them

Love this little walking bit. Another really simple but really cool to look at bit of choreo

The hands as the raindrops hitting the window? Beautiful

Love the different levels used too makes it much more interesting

The shoulder shimmies!!! I wish we got a better shot of it here

So outfit-wise, not much to say

The simple black/grey clothes fit the nice friendly boy next door vibe well, and work for the more subdued concept

The makeup is 'natural', and the hair for the most part is okay, very 2010-2011 pretty boy hair

We're no longer in the pasty lipstick days, but we're now in 'let's just slap some lipbalm/literal nude lipstick on and call it a day'

I just think that they should all be showing a little forehead like they all have nice high foreheads, so show it off a little!!!

Maybe it's just a cultural thing for me I was always told having a high forehead was attractive, and I kinda agree so long as it doesn't veer past fivehead territory

Again, I like Soohyun's jacket very chic

And the beginning of the super tight pants are here

This part always makes me giggle a little like what are you guys doing

AJ's doing the most for his little solo bit and I kinda love that for him

Dunno much about his Paran days, but according to the comments, he was usually given the fewest parts

I was so obsessed with this part as a kid

I don't remember this part of the choreo but I kinda love it

Look at Soohyun giving it his all

I love the way that when Eli and AJ do their rap together, it looks like they're just swatting the other members aside lol

Look at the conviction in that single pointed finger

So iconic

Soohyun put all his acting chops into that one belt

It's a much softer and simpler dance compared to their other comebacks, but it fits with the more subdued and vocal-heavy song

I also wonder if it's because Hoon had only been dancing for like half a year so they didn't want to have him visibly struggle

Hoon and AJ both stuck out the most to me

AJ has a very distinct quality to his movements, like they're not bad, but they definitely seem...sharper? Maybe more aggressive?

Hoon has, for the lack of a better descriptor, a very theatrical way of moving? It's not super noticeable here (but still definitely present), but you really see it later on

He also seems less sure of his dancing than the others, and he's not fully projecting outward, but again, he hadn't been dancing very long at this time, so it's completely understandable

The other 5 were very good, as always now

Dongho is the absolute star of this for me, his charisma is insane

8/10 it's a simple dance with a simple stage, but very enjoyable to watch with a lot of nice moments. It's a good stage, and while it stands out compared to their others just because of its subdued vibe, it's not huge a stand-out on its own (I say, as a 0330-lover)

Some other 0330 looks from their long promotional period

I wanna know what was going through the designer's head while making these

Could never conceptualize this, and I'm torn between thinking these are incredible and that these are horrific

Like not even the colour-blocking I'm fascinated by the cuts of these

I do like the red/white/pink colour scheme, and that shade of pink is really pretty

Eli and Hoon have me asking the most questions like what are those tops

I think Kiseop and Soohyun got off the easiest here

Another incredibly puzzling set of looks

I like the grey/white and the more formal jacket idea

I even like the colour blocks for the most part

But AJ looks like a chef, and Soohyun's....wannabe-tailcoat is confusing me

I also don't like how Hoon and Eli have blazers with white lapels like the lapels are almost unnoticeable

I like Kiseop's look the best his jacket is nice and I like his hair

These outfits are actually pretty nice

The light blue/dark blue is pretty, and I don't really hate any of these jackets

Soohyun's outfit is my personal favourite it looks really good on him

I'm conflicted on these black/white suits because they're accented with purple

Okay I'll be honest I can't tell if it's supposed to be black, dark grey, or a dark brown because the purple is really throwing me off

I love half these outfits and kinda hate the others

The white jackets all look good

Torn between liking the cut of Kiseop's jacket and hating the penguin-esque look of it

Don't love whatever's going on with Kevin and Dongho

Not loving Eli's jacket either

A lot going on with these two-toned purple and white outfits

The light purple parts are all made of some kind of satin, and so are Hoon's lapels

Hoon and AJ both have these random bits of satin-like fabric hanging from their jackets and it looks very funny when they do the shoulder shimmies

I actually like most of these, but I'm also very confused by them

I wish there were better shots of the outfits

Words That Hurt Me... | YouTube Music 218k | Spotify 31k

So this is a Kevin song I guess

Featuring the entire rap line, Soohyun, and allegedly Hoon, while Kiseop is nowhere to be found

It's another mid-paced weepy love song with a lot of begging and pining and "baby I love you please come back"

Dongho gets a surprisingly lengthy rap, I guess his voice was done giving him grief

I like the prechorus with Soohyun helping to build up Kevin's voice

AJ's rap is one of my favourite parts in this song, but I still don't get the "so please be my Wendy" bit

I get what it's meant to be, but I just don't think it fits this song

Even though it's a Kevin song, I'd say Soohyun steals the spotlight by the end while he's belting his little heart out

"Mordny present" love that so true

Also, apparently AJ and Dongho both have songwriting credits here? Who's responsible for the Wendy line?

8.25/10 it's a weepy love ballad, something Kevin is very good at, I just wish the song built more, if that makes sense.

Every Day | YouTube Music 356k | Spotify 48k

This is such a banger because it's a Soohyun song

Well okay, he's very prominent in this song, but everyone else gets a decent share of lines

So it's Soohyun featuring Kevin, Hoon, and then everyone else because it's a vocal-heavy song

I love that first verse with Kevin and Kiseop, followed by Hoon's verse

Their voices work so well together and they all sound so sweet it's a shame we never got a subunit of them

Hoon and AJ splitting that verse after the chorus is interesting too

They both have a similar kind of theatrical feel to their voices

Soohyun and Hoon doing the bridge? Goated

Soohyun belting the chorus in the background while also doing his own adlibbing is so funny and so extra and so very him

It's such a cute mushy love song, very good sweet boys who respect all women, but also a really fun upbeat song

Also, I'm not reviewing it here but maybe later, I love the dance for this it's so fun and unserious except when they do body rolls because that's always super serious business

8.5/10 I think it's super catchy, and I love the the vocal pairings we got for some of the verses, and of course, I love Soohyun in this it's like you can hear his smile

I Don't Understand | YouTube Music 216k | Spotify 57k

I was gonna say this is a vocal line song, but Kiseop only gets 2 lines so that's a lie

But yeah this is basically Soohyun, Kevin, AJ, and Hoon, featuring Dongho, Eli, and Kiseop

I'll forgive the many AJ lines he was one of the lyricists

Soohyun/Kevin/Hoon chorus? Goated we're getting a full emotional range here

AJ/Kiseop/Soohyun prechorus is super interesting. You don't really get that combo often

Eli and Dongho both get a rap verse each, and personally I preferred Dongho's

Hoon's bridge part is pretty, but I always think about that one radio live they did where his voice cracked while singing like that's super embarrassing I'm sorry you went through that

Another upbeat-sounding song with sad "baby I love you let's not break up" lyrics, but with a twist!!!

The twist being it sounds like there's no infidelity just a couple growing apart

8.25/10 I kinda wish the song was a bit longer so we could squeeze in another verse, rather than have like 70% of the song be the prechorus and chorus

Miracle | YouTube Music 187k | Spotify 21k

Another banger for SWIN, who by the way, also wrote the intro and I Don't Understand (plus other later songs)

There's always interesting vocal arrangements and mushy good boy lyrics with SWIN

This is another one just for the vocalists - Kevin and Hoon sing the bulk of the song, with Soohyun, Kiseop, and AJ making up the rest of it. Eli gets the "to the left/to the right" part, and Dongho gets nothing lol

Honestly, I'm pretty sure Kiseop gets more lines in this song than all previous releases combined

As he should, his voice is fairly sweet and fits the cute plucky feel of the song

Kevin and Hoon taking the lion's share of singing is also absolutely the right choice because they both sound like diabetes, especially Kevin

"Let me show you fantasy" something about the way Kevin sings it

Also, the short AJ/Kevin lines? I wish we got more of those I like how their voices sound together

Hoon/Kiseop prechorus is super sweet, and Soohyun just busting in the middle lol

AJ/Kiseop/Hoon/Kevin second verse? I wanted a unit song with them sooo badly, both because a) they were my favourites, and b) I think their voices work super well together

Believe it or not, there's no yearning, no pining, and no woman-hating in this song - it's just pure cutesy fluff that also conveniently doubles as perfect fanservice

8.5/10 it's cute, it's fun, it's got interesting vocal arrangements, and it gave my boy Kiseop more lines. Not much to complain about

So yeah, after doing their promotional rounds (which were crazy long, I think the last music stage I saw for this was mid-May 2011), they were immediately shuttled off to Japan. I think they said they actually didn't really know why they were there, and they were just told to live in the dorms, practice, and study Japanese, which you know, I think is believable for NH.

Not really a fun fact, but just some things I wanted to get off my chest, and that's subunits I wished actually happened/got more of instead of uBEAT:

Soohyun/Hoon - well, I guess it's already a thing, but I still want more

Soohyun/Kevin - again, technically already kind of a thing, but I wanna see those guys promote together because one minute they'll be all friendly and lovey-dovey then the next they're super passive-aggressive

Hoon/Kevin - they really gave us one of the saddest songs in their catalogue, and then just never did anything else together ever again

Hoon/Kiseop - technically also a thing, and I really like their voices together, and I also wanna see them promote together again

Platonic Roommates For Life Kevin/Kiseop - literally how have they never done a duet together? I only noticed this during Kevin's Graduation DVD where he has duets with everyone but Kiseop, and I think that's a travesty

Vocal Troika Soohyun/Hoon/Kevin - obviously. Think about how many power ballads they could do together

Sex Kitten Trio Hoon/Kevin/Kiseop - I only thought of this after a serendipitous music shuffle put Lights Out and Don't Act Innocent back-to-back, and I thought that they all sounded a little different. Let their voices build off of each other, and suddenly they sound like they're doing one of those boyfriend audios

Trot Trio Soohyun/Hoon/Kiseop - Soohyun and Hoon can obviously sing it, but Kiseop was a real surprise

Cute Pop Trio Kevin/Kiseop/AJ - look it might be a little messy, but I think it would've been great in terms of music, and I think it would've been a real visual treat for us

Hot Mess Express Trio Soohyun/Kevin/AJ - I don't have any other reason I genuinely do think this trio would've been hilarious to watch pre-2016 like there's passive-aggressiveness and blatant awkwardness it would've been a hot mess

Someone May Die Trio Kevin/Hoon/AJ - again, this would've been so funny pre-2016, but especially around 2012-2014. Do I think they'd make it out in one piece? Probably not

I really love this mini album, it's a no-skip for me. I like that they really shed the bad boy image and went all-in with the good boy next door vibe, and gave us those sad love songs that are literally made to cry in the club to.

We're entering NEVERLAND next, and boy that is banger after banger, and that leads us right into their honestly crazy hectic 2011-2014 period where I'm very distressed because there's so much music to cover.

[lonelypond]

Parent Trap, Ch. 18

NicoMaki, Love Live, 2.2K, 18/?

Maki, Nico, and Dia spend a day at home.

Family Day

Maki woke up, with familiar aches and cramped muscles. She’d fallen asleep in the rocking chair. In Nico’s bedroom, next to the crib Nico’s family had brought here for Dia. Dia looked as comfortable in this crib as she did at home. Maki glanced to the bed, wondering what Nico sleeping looked like tonight. It looked like Nico had woken up and wandered somewhere else. With the blackout curtains, Maki couldn’t be sure what time it was. Dia usually had a very regular sleeping schedule but the past few days had been tiring for everyone. All the heightened emotions had been making her restless. Rin had mentioned Dia crying more than usual before actually settling down.

The bedroom door opened, Nico quietly returning. Maki stood, her actions as silent as Nico, signaling to the door. With a nod, Nico backed out of the door.

“Hey.” Maki whispered, once she’d shut the door behind her.

“Hey.” Nico grinned, surging up on tiptoe to kiss Maki.

Maki stepped closer. Nico’s hands slid around her waist and instead of breaking the kiss, Nico pulled Maki even closer, one hand raising to swoop through Maki’s hair, around her ear, tickle the back of Maki’s neck. Maki shivered and pulled back.

“Too much?”

Maki glanced down, twisting a curl

“It’s all right, Maki. Nico’s not in a rush.” Nico kept a hand on Maki’s waist but opened a space between them.

"Not too much. It's just..." Maki smiled, “I’m too practical. Dia will probably wake up soon.”

“And demand attention from her Mama.” A wink. “Nico totally gets that.”

“I’m really not fun when I’m hangry.”

“Ah. Well, let Nico fix that.” Nico had Maki’s hand, pulling her toward the stairs, “Mama made muffins, super healthy muffins, chock full of raisins and bran and cinnamon. And Nico can scramble some eggs to go with them. Do you think Dia will give you 15 minutes for breakfast?”

“Maybe.” Here in the hall, Maki could see that it was past dawn, “Rin said she was restless, but she seems settled.”

“Tired.” Nico yawned, “We all are.”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s get you food.”

Maki tugged Nico back, a hug, letting her weight rest on Nico for a quiet moment. Felt natural. And Nico didn’t falter or cough. Maki closed her eyes. Maybe she could have this for just a few minutes before Dia demanded everyone’s efforts.

###

Nico watched as Maki devoured the food in front of her, letting Maki get through it before asking questions.

“So is Dia a fussy eater?”

Maki shook her head, spooning more scrambled eggs onto her plate, “She gets in moods. But she’s willing to try nearly anything.”

“That’s good.”

Maki shrugged. “But then there’s the keeping an eye on EVERYTHING she puts near her mouth. Especially when she’s on the move. Tora’s the same. I think they have races to give me and Rin heart attacks.”

“Competitive mothers, competitive daughters.”

“Probably.” Maki was now picking apart a muffin, casually.

“Did you breastfeed for long?”

Maki stiffened, wondering if Nico was going to judge her answer, but when she saw nothing but concern and curiosity in Nico’s eyes, she relaxed. “I was really determined to keep it up for at least 18 months…”

“Are you still?”

Maki shook her head, “The first three months were amazing; I wasn’t going in to the hospital, Dia was so small and changing so much every day.” Maki smiled at Nico, eyes tearing, “It was the most intimate feeling, my daughter, this beautiful new being, in my arms, so near.” A sigh as Maki leaned back, “But then I went back to work part-time and trying to fit in time that worked for me, for Dia, or at least pump milk, those moments lost that…sense of magic.” A soft smile Nico wanted to snap a pic of for a screensaver, “There were still those moments, and nothing was going to stop me from a full year of breastfeeding, but Dia liked solid food and I was just getting more frustrated with the nanny and scheduling…so not so much after her first birthday.”

Nico reached out to take Maki’s hand, “You’re an amazing mom, Maki. Dia’s so happy. And healthy.”

“Yeah.” Maki squeezed Nico’s hand, “I want her to be able to stay in that safe zone as long as she can, happy, and not worried about anything more than where’s Tsuki.”

“Squad goals,” Nico pulled her chair closer, “I always made sure to stay upbeat for my siblings. They were so young when my dad died. I didn’t want them to only remember a gloomy childhood.”

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Only remember a gloomy childhood?”

Nico snorted, “I was too busy. And surrounded by so much love. Cocoro, Cocoa, and Cotaro and my mom are Nico’s first and biggest fans. Nico remembers so many concerts and so much cheering. They were the best audience. Still are.”

Maki could feel Nico’s energy surge as she thought about her siblings, her family. Maki wanted to be that for Nico too.

“I’m a big fan.”

“You’ve got some catching up to do.” Nico giggled, “But you are Nico’s sexiest fan. And you made sure Philly is Nico’s favorite city.”

“Not Chicago?”

“Nico’s always loved Chicago.” The chair scooted even closer, “But sometimes, you need some place new to appreciate.”

“And that’s Philly?”

Nico leaned in, her eyes locked on Maki’s lips, both remembering the same moments in the hotel room, wanting to embrace the flare of want when their lips brushed, “And you.”

###

A blanket spread on the floor, Nico sitting in front of an open tub, pulling out clothes to show to Dia, and Maki, leaning forward on the couch, taking the clothes that Dia or Nico handed her.

“I can’t believe my mom kept so many things from all of us.” Nico held up a sweatshirt with a 25 on it, to see Dia’s reaction. Dia grabbed for a sparkly white hat with a fake fur bobble instead. She pulled it on, then burbled at Maki.

“Very pretty, Dia.”

“That was Cocoro’s favorite hat when she was Dia’s age. Cocoa could never manage to keep one on. If she didn’t lose a hat, she lost a shoe.”

“What about Cotaro?”

Nico smiled, handing Dia brown corduroy overalls, which Dia pushed to the side.

“He always wanted to wear the same thing, every day. Nico had to do a lot of laundry.”

Nico leaned Maki-ward, back against the couch, leaving Dia to crawl over to the tub, turn it on its side, and tilt it so everything spilled out. She then started to make three piles. Maki reached down, letting her fingers sweep through the softness of Nico’s sable locks.

“That must have been rough.”

Nico shrugged, “Family is everything. You do everything you can for them. That’s what Mama taught us.” Nico said that softly, watching Dia.

Maki wondered what Nico was thinking. But that question seemed dangerous. “What was your Dad like?”

“He has green eyes, like Dia.” Nico pushed a shirt closer to Dia with her foot. Dia shook her head no. Nico chuckled. “He was…he is my inspiration. He taught me about making people happy, about making Mama laugh, about how important being there to make people smile was.”

Maki slid off the couch, forcing Nico to move out so that Maki could sit behind her, wrapping her arms around the smaller woman. “He sounds amazing.”

“He was. We’ll have to be sure to tell Dia stories about him.”

Dia heard “stories” and stopped. “Read?”

Nico shook her head, “Just stories, no books, Nico wants to tell you about…her father sometime, show you pictures.”

“Read.” Dia crossed her arms, frowning.

“She is stubborn.” Nico leaned back into Maki, pulling Dia into her lap with an arm and a hug, Is there a book handy anywhere? Nico likes this cozy mood."

Maki reached back, “There’s The Rice In The Pot Goes Round and Round. Hanayo must have sent it with Rin.”

“RICE!” Dia shouted.

Maki squeezed Dia’s cheek gently, “Obviously Hanayo has been brainwashing you.”

“GrrrrrrTora.” Dia looked around.

“Tora can come over tomorrow, if your Mama and her mamas want that. Today,” Nico said this proudly, “We are having a Nico Maki and Dia family day. Now, hand Nico this book.”

Maki did.

Nico scanned the first few pages. “Oh, it’s like the song. We can sing it.”

Maki giggled, I guess we can.”

“Cool.” Nico nudged Dia, “Ready, Dia?”

Dia wasn’t sure what she was agreeing to but then Nico started to sing “The rice in the pot goes round and round” and Dia joined in with some free form syllabification.

### Dia had eaten, bathed, and was now well into afternoon nap time. Maki had stopped outside the door leading to Nico’s second floor deck.

“Breath of fresh air?”

Nico shook her head, “Telescopic lenses.”

“Can I just pay them to go away? I have my checkbook.”

Nico giggled, “ Nico hasn’t tried that. Money might not work as motivation though. The ones that aren’t masochists are probably sadists. Why else would you stalk someone for weeks?”

“How do you put up with it?”

“It’s pretty easy to lose them when I know when and where I’m going.” Nico fidgeted with the curtains, “Haven’t had anybody’s daughter to protect.”

“Oh.” Maki sighed. “Sorry.”

Now Maki’s hands were in Nico’s, “Do not apologize. Or feel bad. Nico is so glad you and Dia are here. This will all calm down.”

“Not what Mama says.”

“Your mother is…” Nico forced herself to swallow a rant, “not helpful in some situations.”

Maki raised an eyebrow, “How much of that was censored.”

“All of it.” Nico said through clenched teeth.

“I don’t care if they get a picture. I want some air.” Maki opened the door, stepped out, dragging Nico with her, sticking out her tongue, wagging her head at all angles, then throwing up her arms and shouting. “Go home losers.”

Rolling her eyes, Nico dropped into a chair, “Happy now?”

Maki leaned over the railing, searching for invaders or glints of lenses, “Yes.”

“Nico is glad for you.”

###

Nico shouldn’t be surprised that pizza was the dinner choice of both Maki and Dia, with Italian wedding soup for her. Chicken broth and its healing powers for the win. Dia had put Tsuki on the couch with a piece of pizza on a plate and they were watching the Lilo and Stitch TV show. Nico was eating soup, and Maki was sitting on the floor between Nico and Dia, leaning into Nico’s leg, humming along. Dia dropped her crust in front of Tsuki, lowered herself off the couch, and moved in front of the screen, turning to face her audience. Nico paused the show. Dia pointed to Stitch and began a series of incomprehensible syllables that had serious meaning for her. She glared at her mother when Maki moved up to sit next to Nico and made Tsuki fall over. Maki sat Tsuki up, then leaned to whisper to Nico, “Rin is always afraid there’ll be quizzes, but Tora understands.”

“Does she watch a lot of teacher things? Maybe she thinks she’s a teacher. Maybe she needs a whiteboard.”

Maki tilted her head, watching her daughter gesture, “She’ll do this in front of anybody. She’s not shy at all.”

Nico felt proud at that. Dia standing confident, obviously delivering gold star toddler level content.

“She’s got a lot of energy.”

The whispers didn’t bother Dia. Tsuki seemed to be her chosen audience.

“Yeah, but just wait, there’ll be a crash, probably soon.”

“And then do you tuck her in for the night?”

“Yeah, talk about the day for a few minutes, read her a story, make sure she’s comfortable.”

“Fall asleep in the rocking chair.” Nico teased.

“Maybe tonight, I’ll fall asleep somewhere else.”

Nico slid her arm behind Maki’s shoulders, “I know a place.”

Maki kissed Nico on the cheek, “Feels inviting.”

“Good.”

Dia had paused, but only to save breath for her next chapter of exposition. From the gestures, it seemed to be about surfing. They would definitely have to go somewhere with an ocean and a beach as soon as it was warm enough, Nico decided.

###

Dia had rejoined them on the couch, grabbed Tsuki, and curled up next to a pillow, barely keeping her eyes open.

“You were right. Energy crash right on time.” Nico said, looking over Maki’s shoulder.

“I’d better get her to bed.”

“Let me.” Nico jumped off the couch, moved to Dia, and bent to pick her up in a graceful flow of motion. Fit. Nico was fit and kind and smart and funny and caring and recovering quickly and Maki was here, in her house, becoming more and more aware of the many many good things Nico brought to a relationship. Nico paused for a moment, Maki wondered if Dia might be too heavy, but Nico just drew Dia in, snuggling her close against her chest, her entire attention on the sleeping child. Nico was blinking, she looked away, and Maki caught the brief edge of a haunting shiver as a hollow, lonely shadow dimmed Nico’s megawatt glow. Then the bright smile was back, and Maki wrote off her odd feeling as Nico’s lingering illness.

Nico whispered something to Dia, kissing the top of her head. Then she tucked Dia into an easier position for stair climbing. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Sure.” Maki didn’t know if what happened next would be cuddly, crazy, or conversational, but she did know that here, safe in Nico’s house, with their daughter nearby, was where she wanted to be.

A/N: Business of theatre stuff is a little crazy, but I missed this. So here you go. Author continues to be a raging sentimentalist. But you knew that ; )

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

Slaver’s Bay Part 1- Hizdahr zo Loraq x OC

Hizdahr zo Loraq x Kiyara Tallhart

Description: Kiyara and Hizdahr learn of Daenerys Targaryen’s death and are called forward by the new King for a surprising request.

Word Count: 2.1k

Kiyara knew that something was wrong the minute that Tyrion Lannister entered Gylladhor. They hadn’t had contact with him since the Sons of Harpy had been vanquished, why would he show up to a town he’d never been to out of nowhere. She had been out in town when he arrived, but she was in the bakery, so she hadn’t seen him until she returned home.

“I’m home darling,” she called softly, stepping inside her house with a basket full of bread and other food in her arms. When she got to the living room doorway, she froze.

“Lord Lannister,” she greeted, not hiding her surprise at the man’s presence. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” The man in question was sitting in one of the two armchairs talking to Hizdahr, who had been sitting on the couch. Upon seeing her, both men looked at her, and they stood in unison to greet her.

“Lady Kiyara, it’s wonderful to see you again,” Tyrion spoke formally.

“You as well,” she answered, curtsying when he bowed to her.

“You have a lovely home,” the man commented as Kiyara walked over to her husband. “It’s nice to see you two so happy.” She shot him an appreciative smile, though she was still nervous about his seemingly sudden appearance in their house.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of having you here, Lord Tyrion?” She repeated, resting her hand on her husband’s arm. Hizdahr pressed a kiss to the crown of her head in greeting and he offered her an unsure smile, which let her know that he didn’t know why the lord was there either. Tyrion didn’t say anything at first, instead gesturing for the couple to sit down. They obeyed then watched as he retook his seat in Hizdahr’s chair.

“There is no easy way to say this, my lady,” he started slowly, clasping his hands together and resting them in his lap. “But, shortly after Daenerys Targaryen discovered the Iron Throne in King’s Landing, she was killed by Jon Snow in order to prevent her from her reign as a mad queen.” Kiyara’s shoulders dropped as he spoke, and she could almost hear her heart break. Her jaw dropped a bit and her hand fell from Hizdahr’s arm.

“What?” She breathed out, not knowing what else to say. Tyrion offered her a sympathetic smile, but she couldn’t focus on it. The woman she saw as a friend was dead, killed in cold blood when she finally reached her goal. Of course, she was aware of the ex-Queen’s slow spiral into madness, it was all anyone could really talk about. But she knew that Daenerys still had good in her. Hell, she had let Kiyara and Hizdahr escape on her own dragon. Though she knew that her death was good for everyone else, it still hurt her to think about.

“With her dead, Jon Snow’s younger brother, Bran Stark, is now the King of Westeros,” Tyrion continued. “As the Hand of the King, it is my duty to inform you that the King requests your presence. There are certain matters he wishes to discuss with the two of you.” For a moment the two men watched Kiyara, trying to gauge what she was feeling.

“When do we leave?” She asked, attempting to keep her voice even.

“Whenever you two are ready,” the man responded simply. “I’m here to escort you to King’s Landing, though I should warn you that the trip will take two days. You must be prepared for that.” Kiyara nodded, though it looked as if she weren’t truly listening.

“We leave in the morning,” she said before standing rather abruptly. “You are more than welcome to stay here for the night. I’m going to lie down for a bit.” She didn’t allow either man to speak before she was walking to her bedroom. Just faintly, she could hear Hizdahr apologize for her abrupt departure, but Tyrion brushed it off.

Kiyara laid in bed until the sun set. She could smell Hizdahr making dinner, he’d learned to do a lot of cooking after they arrived in Gylladhor. If she was being honest, she was definitely thankful for that now because the last thing she wanted to do was stand there for 30+ minutes. At close to 7:00 a knock was heard on the bedroom before it opened.

“Kiyara, you must come eat,” Hizdahr muttered softly, receiving nothing in response. “My star, I know that you’re grieving, but the last thing that Daenerys would want for you is to stop living because of her.” Kiyara sighed, she hated when he was right.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” she finally said. Hizdahr nodded then walked out, closing the door behind him. Once she was sure that she was alone, she took a deep breath. After laying there for another minute, she finally rolled out of bed and took a look in her vanity mirror. She grimaced at her tear-stained reflection. Her hair was messy and her clothes were wrinkled from laying in bed for so long, so she fixed them. After all, she had a reputable guest in her home.

Once she was happy with her appearance, she walked out to see Hizdahr and Tyrion already eating at the table. She didn’t talk much during dinner, which surprised the lord. When they were in Meereen she was happy to engage with others as they ate, but he guessed that she was still processing the news of her friend’s death. After she finished dinner, she excused herself to go pack for their trip.

Less than an hour later, Hizdahr showed Tyrion to his room before also going to their room to pack. He walked in and noticed Kiyara still packing. Closing the door softly, he grabbed his bag from the closet and set it beside her still opened one.

“It’s been so long since I dressed for royalty,” Kiyara mentioned conversationally. “I almost forgot how to do so. I never got to meet King Bran before he was crowned, only Jon Snow in passing. Daenerys has-” she cut herself off, trying not to cry again. “Had a certain standard for her court, I have no idea what the new King will like.” Hizdahr could tell that she was rambling so that she could attempt to move on from Daenerys’ death.

“Kiyara, look at me,” he instructed gently. He rested his hands on her shoulders, which gave her the push she needed to do as he said. Immediately, he could tell that her eyes were welling up with tears, and he pulled her into a hug.

“You can cry,” he muttered. “We’re alone now.” Slowly but surely, she finally wrapped her arms around him as a quiet sob left her lips. Hizdahr held her while she cried, and she clinged to him for dear life. It took nearly an hour for her to finally calm her down, and once her tears stopped, her husband looked at her once more. He didn’t need words to comfort her, and he knew that, so he didn’t try. Instead, he continued to hold her until she pulled away to continue packing.

The rest of the night went by in a blur and before she knew it, Kiyara was being woken up by Hizdahr, telling her that it was time to go. She made pleasant conversation with Tyrion on the ride back to King’s Landing. They made a stop in Essyris for the night, which marked the halfway point. The morning after, they were up and moving at the same time as the day prior.

Kiyara looked out the window as they reached the large and slightly daunting castle of King’s landing. It was beautiful, she couldn’t deny that. She’d never seen it before, so she had no idea what it was like prior to Bran’s rise to power.

“Marvelous, isn’t it?” Tyrion asked, almost amusedly as he watched her awed reaction.

“Very,” she responded distantly, taking her husband’s hand as a way to ground herself and keep her nerves at bay. Upon arriving in front of the castle, Tyrion stepped out followed by Hizdahr, who then helped Kiyara out of the carriage. They walked inside in unison and told the presenter who they were. While they waited for their presentation, Kiyara took a second to straighten out her dress and fix her hair.

“Do I look okay?” She asked her husband, facing him. An affectionate smile graced his face as he nodded.

“Always, though I may be biased in my opinion.” That made the girl blush, and she rolled her eyes at him before straightening her posture as the presenter spoke.

“Announcing the arrival of Lord Tyrion Lannister, the Noble Hizdahr zo Loraq and his wife Lady Kiyara zo Loraq,” he spoke loudly.

“Enter,” they heard Bran call, which was their cue to do so. Kiyara knew that Bran was younger, being only seventeen when he was crowned just a few months ago, but she still found herself suppressing her surprise at the sight of him on the throne. Maybe it was just the fact that it was him sitting there instead of Daenerys. Several others stood around the throne aside from the guards. Jon Snow stood to his right with his direwolf Ghost while Sansa sat to his left.

“Your Majesty, it is an honor to meet you,” Hizdahr greeted upon reaching him. While he bowed, Kiyara curtsied and bowed her head.

“Yes, Lord Lannister has told us many good things about you on the trip here,” she continued, ignoring Jon’s eyes on her.

“You as well,” Bran responded with a kind smile. “From what Lord Lannister and my brother tell me, you are quite the character.” The trio could tell that he was talking to Kiyara since Jon had never met Hizdahr before today. So, Kiyara was the one to answer.

“I’m afraid I cannot tell whether that is a good or bad thing, considering who I was in allegiance to.” She attempted to laugh it off, but almost any of them could tell that she was nervous. Bran shook his head with an amused chuckle.

“It is a good thing, I need someone with good character to do what I’m about to ask of you,” he started before sighing. “I’m afraid that my crowning has overwhelmed me quite a bit, the last thing I was expecting after Daenerys Targaryen’s death was to become King.” Kiyara and Hizdahr shared a confused glance before facing the King once more.

“I can’t imagine the stress you’re under, Your Majesty,” she responded slowly. “And, forgive me if I sound blunt, but what does that have to do with me? Or, us?” The man held up a hand, letting her know that he was getting there.

“I now have reign over the seven kingdoms, but I cannot be in multiple places at once. I’m aware that a ruler should be able to do so, but I’m still learning, and I’m in need of assistance. Slaver’s Bay is a place that both of you know better than anyone. I would like to anoint you as Duke and Duchess over Slaver’s Bay until I know everything I need to in order to rule smoothly.” His words visibly shocked the couple. Both their eyes widened and Kiyara’s jaw dropped open.

“I-” she cut herself off, not knowing what to say.

“I’m well aware that this must be a formidable request to ask of you, but rest assured, I have full confidence that you two are the ones for the task,” Bran continued before standing. The others watched as he walked down the steps of his pedestal to stand in front of them.

“Hizdahr zo Loraq, you know all of Slaver’s Bay like the back of your hand from what Lord Lannister tells me. Daenerys Targaryen made you an ambassador for Meereen and had you travel all over the bay for business with every city in it. Lady Kiyara, you did what you could to make the people love her and understand her motives. Not only that, but you were there to oversee just about everything she declared to be underway. Dare I say it, you two are the perfect candidate for a job such as this. If you were to go through with this, you would live in comfort for the rest of your lives. Please, won’t you do this?”

Kiyara never thought she’d see the day when a King or Queen begged for her, it felt odd. It felt wrong. She had no idea what to expect from this meeting, but it certainly wasn’t this. She thought she was done with politics, but she was evidently wrong. After a moment she realized that all eyes were on her, and she looked at her husband unsurely. It only took one sympathetic smile from him for her to look at the King once again.

“We will,” she answered with finality.

[maizumis]

— THEY CAUGHT YOU WITH WITH A POSITIVE PREGNANCY TEST

ft. timeskip! bokuto koutaro, osamu miya, tsukkishima kei, iwaizumi hajime, kuroo tetsuro

note: reposting this cause Tumblr messed up, baby fever is hitting

•BOKUTO was opening the door and his heart was already telling him something wasn't okay, his feet carried him to the living room in hope to find you "babe! where are you?" he is home, you think before answering with little sobs "i-in the bathroom, bo" why were you crying? did something happened to you when he was out? "what's going on? you're okay bub? why didn't you call me— what's on your hand" he spotted it so fast, you knew he wouldn't leave you but it was still a scary moment "um bo, do you remember how we talked about our future kids in high school?" he smiles at the memory, of course, he wants all the babies you could give him "of course I remember! we talked about how morning would be, a little baby in my arms while you were making some pancakes and stuff like that!" a sigh you didn't knew you had inside came out of your body "well, I'm pregnant, you could expect that scenario in a few months" he starts laughing, smiling, happy tears already down his cheeks repeating 'thank you' and 'i love you' as a mantra "now, we are really going to be the best parents out there" he hides his face in your neck and you can feel his smile "of course we are, specially you, I love you"

•OSAMU found you in your shared bed, in a fetal position hugging your knees, he thought you were sleeping but you were actually think how you were going to tell him the news, kids was never a topic the two of you talked about "how's ma pretty baby? ya getting some sleep?" by the way you looked at him in the eyes, he knew you weren't trying to sleep, he went to your night table to fin that cost little pillow with seeds and lavender that you loved so much but he instead founded a pregnancy test, your pregnancy test "babe would ya care to explain? I'm not mad at ya and I'm not leaving ya, never" you sit up, your back now resting in the wall and looking directly at him "surprise?" he sits next to you and brings you up to him, both your legs straddling his lap, forehead touching each other's "a know we never talked about a family together but I assure ya, a can't wait to meet ma little baby, yer going to be a beautiful mama, a love ya" happiness flowed your body, big smile and giggles falling out of you "and you're going to be a beautiful papa osamu, I love you"

• IWAIZUMI thought you were in the bathroom throwing up again we he didn't wake up next to you, blaming himself for not waking up to help you in there, what he didn't expected was your back on the bathroom counter, hand over your mouth to muffle your sobs "no, no, no baby don't cry, how can I help you? please tell me, you are worrying me baby, please" looking at him with red puffy eyes, cheek tear stained you told him "please promise me you're not gonna leave me hajime, I love you, I couldn't afford a life with you" now he was really worried, he started looking everywhere for something and then I saw it, his bran making the click, his heart now full of love, finally he's going to start a family with you "I'm not leaving you nor my child, I live both of you, can't wait to see what life is going to be with a little you running around" giggling you wipe your tears of your face, now you were crying of happiness "I really hope they have your eye hajime", he picks you up and takes you back to bed, cuddling you from behind, hand rubbing your inexistent pregnancy belly "now go to sleep again, you better not push yourself with anything, if you need something you call me, anything, you pick the phone and I'm gonna be there" smiling, you start to fall asleep in his tight embrace "love you hajime, imma go sleep" you did notice the little kiss he landed on your neck and the 'i love you both' that came out from his lips

•TSUKKI opens the door of your shared appartment after a long day at the museum, a little smile on his face thanks to the curious kid that was in his excursion, to scared to ask you about that life, afraid that you might leave; he is greeted with your figure sitting in the dinner table, both your arms up there while you rest your chin ok your fingers, eyes full of surprise seeing something he couldn't tell what is it. his tall body made your ways towards you and there's where he saw it, his expresion the same as yours "oh" disappointed of himself, he is literally going to have a kid and all he can say to you is 'oh'? "no shit sherlock, say something else!!! I'm about to pass out kei!" he is now laughing, happy, making you stand up so he can hold you by your waist "are you happy? do you want this, baby?" you pull him closer by wrapping your arms around his body "I do want it, do you?" he smiles, excited for how things are going to turn out "I want it more than anything in this lifetime, I love you" replying with a 'i love you more' the two of you stay like that in silence, enjoying the little moment, thinking how in a few months the two of you could share a moment like this, with your child

•KUROO was home early than usual, quickly hiding the yes behind you, both of you talked about having kidding the future, so of course this wasn't planned "h-hi testsuro, you're home early" he looks at you, already knowing something is off "your hiding something, spill it" you scoff, your acting skills where that bad? "I'm not hiding anything, how could you think that of me" his big body now is on front of yours, kneeling s little so his face could be as the same level as yours "show me, now" you give up, thinking is now or never and gave him the test "what's this?" he says while grabbing it "I thought you were smarter, now my child is gonna be dumb" he scoffed, eyes tearing a little beacuse of happiness, this wasn't planned a all but he couldn't feel more proud, throwing the test to the floor he picks you up and start kissing all over your face, whit a last kiss on your lips, he tells you "now we are really in that milf and dilf game baby"

[dontbipanicjonsa]

A confusing clusterfuck of thoughts re: Jonsa

Or: why the fuck are Jon and Sansa so compatible if they're not canon, huh?

He saw the Wall shining like blue crystal, and his bastard brother Jon sleeping alone in a cold bed, his skin growing pale and hard as the memory of all warmth fled from him. - Bran III AGOT

So....Jon is going to lose memory of all warmth? I'm going to separate the changes brought about in post-resurrection!Jon here as changes caused by death and changes caused by Ghost. This post is only speculating about the changes caused by death i.e. loss of memory of all warmth.

More foreshadowing for that-

Chunks of coal burned in iron braziers at either end of the long room, but Jon found himself shivering. The chill was always with him here. In a few years he would forget what it felt like to be warm. - Jon III AGOT

"It was. The fort is in a sorry state, admittedly. You will restore it as best you can..." ... You'll sleep on stone, too exhausted to complain or plot, and soon you'll forget what it was like to be warm, but you might remember what it was to be a man. - Jon II ADWD

So, I did a word search for warm and memory and I found some interesting stuff. Read under the cut.

1. Home

Jon- warmth and memory of home

The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north. - Jon II AGOT (thinking about Arya)

The weariness came on him suddenly... So cold, he thought, remembering the warm halls of Winterfell, where the hot waters ran through the walls like blood through a man's body. There was scant warmth to be found in Castle Black... - Jon III AGOT

...Iron Emmett was still urging on his charges in the yard. The song of steel on steel woke a hunger in Jon. It reminded him of warmer, simpler days, when he had been a boy at Winterfell matching blades with Robb under the watchful eye of Ser Rodrik Cassel. Ser Rodrik too had fallen, slain by Theon Turncloak... All my memories are poisoned. - Jon VI ADWD

The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it.-Jon XII ASOS

So, these are the memories of warmth he'll lose? This warmth, that he associates with Winterfell (and the Starks), is the first memory of warmth Jon has.

Dany- memory of home

The door loomed before her, the red door, so close, so close, the hall was a blur around her, the cold receding behind... and all that lived and breathed fled in terror from the shadow of her wings. She could smell home, she could see it, there, just beyond that door, green fields and great stone houses and arms to keep her warm, there. She threw open the door.

"… the dragon …" - Daenerys IX AGOT

Home? The word made her feel sad. Ser Jorah had his Bear Island, but what was home to her? A few tales, names recited as solemnly as the words of a prayer, the fading memory of a red door … was Vaes Dothrak to be her home forever? - Daenerys VI AGOT

..."What shall we talk of?"

"Home," said Dany. "Naath. Butterflies and brothers. Tell me of the things that make you happy, the things that make you giggle, all your sweetest memories. Remind me that there is still good in the world."

Missandei did her best. She was still talking when Dany finally fell to sleep, to dream queer, half-formed dreams of smoke and fire. - Daenerys VIII ADWD

Dany's idea of 'home' changes over the course of the books. In the beginning she uses home for Illyrio's house, or the house with the red door. She very clearly doesn't think of Westeros as her home. After Viserys's death however, there's a sudden shift. Now, Westeros is her long lost home that she must return to someday. It's jarring. Interestingly enough, she pretty clearly rejects the idea of Dothraki khalasars as home, and the only time she calls Meereen home is in her last chapter of ADWD where she's trying to convince herself to return there. But we know that she ultimately rejects that too, in the same chapter.

Sansa- memory of home

Snow was falling on the Eyrie.

Outside the flakes drifted down as soft and silent as memory. Was this what woke me? Already the snowfall lay thick... The sight took Sansa back to cold nights long ago, in the long summer of her childhood. - Sansa VII ASOS

Last of all came the Royces, Lord Nestor and Bronze Yohn... Though his hair was grey and his face lined, Lord Yohn still looked as though he could break most younger men like twigs in those huge gnarled hands. His seamed and solemn face brought back all of Sansa's memories of his time at Winterfell. - Alayne I AFFC

She missed Septa Mordane, and even more Jeyne Poole, her truest friend... She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. Once in a while, Sansa even missed her sister. By now Arya was safe back in Winterfell... - Sansa II ACOK

Arya coz why not

"Let me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths.… Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you …" - Arya II AGOT

Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. He used to mess my hair and call me "little sister," she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes. - Arya II AFFC

Again, all this (and much more) is stuff that reminds Sansa (and Arya) of home. This is, presumably, shit that Jon is gonna forget. Or maybe he'll retain the memories and only lose the emotions (warmth) associated with it?

2. Suitors or romantic/sexual partners (+Ben Plumm)

Jon

Many a night he lay with Ygritte warm beside him,... - Jon V ASOS

So, Ygritte becomes his second memory of warmth.

When he turned he saw Ygritte.

...cloaked in darkness and in memory. The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon's heart leapt into his mouth. "Ygritte," he said.

"Lord Snow." The voice was Melisandre's.

Surprise made him recoil from her. "Lady Melisandre." He took a step backwards. "I mistook you for someone else." At night all robes are grey. - Jon VI ADWD

AT NIGHT ALL ROBES ARE GREY...yea I know, this is a well established connection between the Girl in Grey and Ygritte. Since Jon associates Ygritte with warmth so strongly, I think it's safe to assume that the Girl in Grey might play a role in warming him too (hehe).

… one hears queer talk of dragons."

"Would that we had one here. A dragon might warm things up a bit."

"My lord jests. You will forgive me if I do not laugh. We Braavosi are descended from those who fled Valyria and the wroth of its dragonlords. We do not jape of dragons." - Jon IX ADWD

Yikes.

Dany

"If my queen commands," he (Jorah) said, curt and cold.

Dany was warm enough for both of them. "She does," she said. "She commands...

When he was gone, Dany threw herself down on her pillows beside her dragons. She had not meant to be so sharp with Ser Jorah, but his endless suspicion had finally woken her dragon. - Daenerys IV ASOS

So, here the warmth is because of anger (woken the dragon).

Dany could feel the warmth of his fingers. He was warm in Qarth as well, she recalled, until the day he had no more use for me. She rose to her feet. "Come," she said, and Xaro followed her through the pillars... - Daenerys III ADWD

She remembered Ben's face the last time she had seen it. It was a warm face, a face I trusted... Even the dragons had been fond of old Brown Ben, who liked to boast that he had a drop of dragon blood himself. Three treasons will you know. Once for gold and once for blood and once for love. Was Plumm the third treason, or the second? And what did that make Ser Jorah, her gruff old bear? Would she never have a friend that she could trust?- Daenerys VI ADWD

This is twice that Dany associates warmth with people who use/betray her.

"You're hurt," she gasped.

"This?" Daario touched his temple. "A crossbowman tried to put a quarrel through my eye, but I outrode it. I was hurrying home to my queen, to bask in the warmth of her smile." He shook his sleeve, spattering red droplets. - Daenerys VI ADWD

Dawn always came too soon.

...If only she had the power, she would have made their nights go on forever, but the best that she could do was stay awake to try and savor every last sweet moment before daybreak turned them into no more than fading memories....

Dany wrapped her arms around her captain and pressed herself against his back. She drank in the scent of him, savoring the warmth of his flesh, the feel of his skin against her own. Remember, she told herself. Remember how he felt. - Daenerys VII ADWD

Ok, I forgot how smitten Dany was with Daario. It would be cute if Daario wasn't so horrifying. Girl has some seriously questionable taste.

Interestingly, the phrase 'fading memory' is used four times in the text (as far as I can find) and three of those times are in Daenerys's POV. One is in the above quote, where she's commanding herself to remember her time with Daario before her marriage to Hizdahr, and the other time is while thinking about the red door. Both these are memories that are important to her, that connect her to the hopeful/little/not-dark girl she once was.

Sansa

Gently, he spoke of Braavos, and met a wall of sullen courtesy as icy and unyielding as the Wall he had walked once in the north. - Tyrion VIII ASOS

"I am composing a new song, you should know. A song so sweet and sad it will melt even your frozen heart. 'The Roadside Rose,' I mean to call it. About a baseborn girl so beautiful she bewitched every man who laid eyes upon her." - Sansa VII ASOS

"Alayne." Her aunt's singer stood over her. "Sweet Alayne. I am Marillion. I saw you come in from the rain. The night is chill and wet. Let me warm you." - Sansa VI ASOS

You must be very cold. Let me warm you, Sansa. Take off those gloves, give me your hands." - Sansa VII ASOS

Yea no. Sansa has not had a good experience with people offering to warm her (unfreeze her? melt her?)

Looks like in TWOW there's going to be two people in desperate need of some warming.

It's pretty neat actually. Jon associates memories of warmth with two things primarily: Winterfell/the Starks, and Ygritte. Sansa is both a Stark, and a much (much) improved Ygritte.

Sansa's iciness-wall-armour is a form of protection that she employs against predatory men. The only person who can melt her frozen heart...is someone who is not predatory. Someone who cares for her. Jon.

It fits perfectly. They fit perfectly.

[alfredosauce50]

From a past life [Yandere vampire! Romania x reader]

Synopsis: For centuries, he waited for your return--your rebirth. So when he finally learns of your whereabouts just outside of Wallachia, he rushes to meet you in hopes of becoming what you both used to be. But he runs into a predicament when he learns you're in a relationship with a man, a pesky human mortal by the name of Daniel. He'll do anything to get rid of him, even if he has to play dirty. He made a promise to you that he would find you for the rest of your lifetimes, so God forbid that he breaks it. Wordcount: 3, 813 The reader is referred to as she/her.

A trip to Romania had always been on your bucket list. Your boyfriend was just as excited to go, but he wouldn’t have been if it turned out to be the last trip you'd ever go on with him.

Today was when you would visit the highlight of your itinerary. On the Transylvania side of the border with Wallachia, and nestled in miles of rolling hills, was Bran castle. The awe-inspiring fortress told one of the most famous tales of old as Count Dracula's abode. Or at least, it was rumored to be as it fit the description of it.

Needless to say, you were dragging him around the estate to admire anything and everything that piqued your interest or served as a potential photo spot. “Oh, hurry up, Daniel! This is where he slept!” Scrambling closer to the grand bed, which was certainly framed with more wood than needed, you leaned in behind the red rope that fenced off the artifact. Then, you flashed him a wide grin.

He returned the gesture with a tender smile of his own. “I'm as old as this castle, kicsim. Let me take things in slowly.”

“You're only three years older than me. I don't think you have the right to call me little or yourself old.” Flattening your lips at that, your frown melted away as quickly as it appeared.

“But look! Dracula's sheets and mattress. Though it would make more sense to say it was Vlad's... The guy he was based on. Hmm, but that wouldn't make sense either.”

The man rubbed the nape of his neck with a soft laugh. It was no doubt he shared your enthusiasm, but your unapologetic passion always made him fall harder than he already had. “Yep. I believe he was imprisoned here. I don't think he'd be getting the master bedroom.” He appeared from behind and rested himself on your head as you placed a pistol grip on your chin.

“Even then, I can't imagine him sleeping so soundly after sticking so many sticks up people's--” Two strong arms squeezed around your waist to make you gasp.

“Ah-!”

“Okay! What do you say we go down to the gardens for a walk, hm?”

And that was exactly what the two of you did. Skipping out in front of him, you held onto his hands and swung his arms. “I'm gonna go down to the pond, okay? You can enjoy this place nice and slowly like the old person you are.”

This was the greenest garden you ever had the pleasure to stroll through, even the tea house blended in with its moss-covered roof. It only emphasized how ancient this castle really was, and something about it delighted you in ways you couldn't articulate.

“Alright, kicsim. I'll see what nice flowers I'll add to my hair.” Daniel scooped the pink blossom from his hazel brown bangs and placed it behind your ear. “When I do, I'll come get you. Don't let any vampires find you before I do.” Shooting you a wink at that, you pecked him on the nose before running off.

Who would have thought those words would ring truer than he intended? Several miles away, slept a man who was as old as Bran castle. His name too was Vlad, though he never earned such a fearsome reputation by impaling his enemies. Instead, he kept a low profile and dedicated his long, neverending life to finding someone.

Every restless night, she was what he dreamed of since her passing.

When I go, promise me you'll find me again.

Promise me.

Fluttering his eyes awake, they glowed a blood-red in the darkness of his bedroom. They drooped with a tiredness that never seemed to go away no matter how much he rested.

Sliding off the mattress, he folded the flaps of his robes tightly around his body before making his way into the halls. Every corner of this humble countryside cottage he called his home was enshrouded with shadows, and not to mention the thick coating of dust caking the top of every shelf, couch, and tabletop.

He hadn't cleaned this house for centuries. His will to try withered away through the years in his lonesome, but he was patient. Peeking through the gap between the curtains of his overgrown hair, his irises shrunk as the blinding daylight poured into them through the drapes of his living room window. He could feel it in his dead still heart.

Something had changed.

Out there in the world scorched by the sun, was something even warmer. And it was so familiar, so tender, he could not mistake it for anything else, or anybody else for that matter.

She was nearby, and the thought filled him to the brim with a joy so potent, tears of relief welled in his wide eyes. He had waited hundreds of years for this moment. For her return. Her rebirth that would usher in his own.

The prospect was so invigorating, he felt as if his heart began to beat again. He never felt so alive. Scurrying back to his bedroom, he sat in front of his vanity to access his appearance. He had to look presentable before meeting her, hadn't he? A bedhead like this and nightwear would simply not do.

Especially when he hadn't cut his hair for at least twenty years.

Giving his long locks of strawberry-blonde a thorough comb, he let it fall straight down to his lower back. With a few quick snips, he shortened his bangs by a few inches to give the impression he had some sort of control over an otherwise uncontrollable mane of hair.

As he shed himself of his robes in exchange for day clothes, a white dress shirt paired with dark plaid pants, one singular thought repeated in his head like a broken record. As morbid as it sounded, it was more of a Godsend than anything.

Death was never the end. Not for her, and not for him. Or rather, a new beginning.

But it didn't start the way he imagined. Following her sweet scent to the gardens of the famed Bran castle, he found the smell growing more and more pungent, albeit confused. It was mixed with another's, tainted by the stench of a human male. His irises thinned to slits, and he tensed up all over. How could this be?

Hiding behind a tree, he peered over the side to confirm his suspicion.

There she was, her beauty as pristine and untouched as the last time he loved her. For just one second, he was over the moon. But his euphoria was short-lived when he saw that she was with a man. Kissing him, even. Even though it was just on the nose, any further down her face would have caused him to start an apocalypse.

That insignificant, trifling, and scheming little creature. He was about to reap what he sowed. How dare he take his place? It was him she was meant to with, not that pesky mortal!

Whipping his head to the front, his eyes went round with disbelief and his breathing grew ragged. An unfathomable ache spread in his chest as he dug his nails into the bark. How could he have let this happen? It took every shred of his willpower to keep the waterworks at bay.

His throbbing heart was also weighed down with a pang of heavy guilt. To allow another soul to be this close to her was a grave disservice to the promise he made. But that didn't mean he couldn't undo this.

In just a few seconds, he formulated an intricate plan to carry out well-deserved revenge. To have her in his arms again, and him, out of the picture where he belonged. In the blink of an eye, he appeared behind the man and tapped him on the shoulder. When he spun around, he grabbed him by the neck and caught him in a trance with his hypnotizing, inhuman gaze.

“You will give these flowers to the nearest young woman you see. Put them in her hair and kiss her on the lips.” Opening his own palm, he materialized three peonies before placing them in the other's.

Unable to escape the powerful snare cast by a vampire such as himself, Daniel did so as told. “I will give these flowers to the nearest young woman I see. I will put them in her hair and kiss her on the lips.” He reiterated monotonously with his eyes glazed over.

Watching the helpless man saunter off, he smirked devilishly as he exchanged glances with his long-lost lover. This would hurt her a great deal, but she would only be devastated if he never did it.

You had been watching the pond, completely ignorant to the scene that was about to unfold. Little did you know, it was purposely orchestrated. Using a stick to prod at your reflection, you lingered on the ripples distorting it before glancing up. In the distance was none other than your boyfriend, and judging from the pink in his hands, he found his flowers.

So you stood up. You would have snuck up on him as a surprise, but your feet remained firmly planted on the ground when you witnessed him give it away, then flirt with another woman. It couldn't be mistaken for anything else. He was kissing her!

Frankly, you couldn't believe it. One year was all it took for him to lose interest? Blood flushed your face as bile rose in your throat. How could he? And during a vacation at that, too! Tears threatened to spill out of your eyes, but you blinked them away when you heard the light treading of feet nearby.

This had to be a misunderstanding. Right?

Spinning to the source, you found yourself staring at the most peculiar man you had ever seen. He carried a delicate parasol to shade him from the sunlight. Combined with his pasty white skin, it was almost as if he was one of the very mythological creatures the country was renowned for.

He smiled gently, almost understandingly.

“Are you alright, domnișoară? I have a spare handkerchief if you'd like.” His alluring voice was as bewitching as a siren, but his mere presence brought you unspeakable comfort. And yet, he was nothing but a stranger, an odd one at that, so you were at a loss to realize that all it took for you to gravitate towards him was for your eyes to meet.

“I'm okay, thank you. But I couldn't possibly accept something like that. I mean, I don't know you...” Waving your hands at the man apologetically, you took the opportunity to scan him up and down.

As if he walked right out of a fairytale, he oozed prince-like charm. His clothes were traditional and refined, but that long, silky hair of his was certainly a rare sight--rare but breathtakingly beautiful. It gave his character untold notions of grandeur, mystery, and an inexplicable impression he was ancient.

But that couldn't be, not when he didn't look a day over twenty.

“What do you mean, you won't take it? It's yours.” He pulled out a small piece of fabric from his sleeve. Placing the finely embroidered cloth into your palm, he never gave you the chance to object. “It would be rude to regift something, so you'll have to keep it forever.” Mischief curled at his lips, and you couldn't help but laugh a little.

“Alright, alright, you got me there.”

You dabbed away the moisture before breathing out a sigh.

“I'm sure you're a very nice person, but I can't bother you more than I already have. Thank you, again, Mr. Vampire.” If it weren't for how heartbroken you were, you would have been mortified. Being pitied by a Romanian local was never part of your plan.

Just when you were betrayed by Daniel, he appeared like a knight in shining armor. If only you could forget what happened between you and your boyfriend. Otherwise, you would be bragging about meeting a vampire in Romania for as long as you could talk.

“Mr. Vampire?” He lifted his head before revealing a pair of sharp fangs in a grin. Now that caught you off guard. “You don't see me calling you miss human--and I have a name, thank you very much.” As he placed his gloved hand on his chest to playfully feign offense, he bit back another smile at the sound of your amused giggling.

Despite what happened a few minutes ago, talking to this actor was making you feel better already.

“And let me guess, is it Alucard?” You shook your head. “Or is it Vlad? You can't possibly call yourself Dracula looking like that.”

He blinked incredulously, then curved an arm over his face as if to cover himself with his non-existent cloak. “How did you know?”

“That your name is Alucard?”

“No, Vlad.”

“Okay, close enough. It was nice meeting you, Vlad, but I have a stupid boyfriend to scream at.” At the mention of that, you looked like you were on the verge of tears again. “All I'm hoping is that he's still my boyfriend after this. If only he were as much of a gentleman as you.”

He reflected your distress in a frown, and you would have been surprised by how much this apparently bothered him. But you already walked off. So he offered one last niceity before you strayed too far. “Good luck with your boyfriend.”

“No promises.”

He let those two words affect him more than he intended. Needless to say, he moved on quickly to watch you run to the unsuspecting brunette. Soon, his anguish was staved off by the sight of you shoving him back a few steps.

What looked like a one-sided argument broke out, and all the poor, confused man could do was just that--be confused. Shortly after, you stormed off, and he jogged behind, desperately calling your name.

A sinister smile cracked at Vlad's lips, and his irises glowed red. That little thing had no idea what was yet to happen to him.

That night, Daniel took you to the Brașov city hall for dinner. The beautiful buildings surrounding a fountain were as traditional as they were clean. Too bad your zeal was burned away by your anger. In the few hours in the hotel before, he barely managed to soothe it by explaining himself. A given, considering his explanation made no sense whatsoever.

He couldn't remember flirting with a woman.

“I think we could share a pizza. Are you okay with that?” Lifting his gaze to meet yours, you only turned away to stare out the window into the endless night. Your spaciness was deserved on his part, but little did he know, it only had so much to do with his wrongdoings.

The eccentric local never left your mind. After all, he gave you something to smile about with his whimsical kindness.

Vlad must have been an entertainer, a virtuoso at that, but his actions never came off as ingenuine. To be frank, you were drawn to his sincerity, and even looking for him subconsciously, wishing that he could magically appear because you willed it.

If only Daniel could be just as sincere.

“I must be okay with a lot of things.” His face fell. The same sorrow from when he was at the hotel room returned, but you couldn't care to give it any attention. “Like you pretending you didn't kiss someone right in front of me because you don't remember. I'm not stupid. Who else would have long hair tied back and flowers in their fringe?”

Daniel knitted his brows so tightly together, creases formed between them. “... I know it sounds like I'm lying, but I swear to you I didn't do it. You know me, (F/N).” At this point, he hadn't the foggiest what to say to appease you because he simply didn't do it. “I promise. All I'm asking is for you to trust me.”

“You promise?” You fumed.

There was only one thing you hated more than a liar.

“I trusted you, Daniel, I really did. But how could you ask me to trust you after I talked to that girl? She remembered it, so why can't you? Did you think I was that crazily into you I could let anything slide?” The biting truth silenced him, but it was the sound of you choking back tears that broke his heart.

“I'm gonna go to the bathroom to think this over.”

He had no way to argue with you, let alone the heart to when it was just broken and crushed to a thin slab of flesh. What if he really did kiss someone, and miraculously forgot?

“When I come back, I better not see you kissing anybody again.”

Standing up at that, he watched you leave with a defeated expression. Then, he folded his arms across the table and buried his face into it. There was no way he could fail that, could he?

What were the odds of kissing someone again when he had absolutely no intention to? The chances were dwindling at zero as he kept his head down. Unless supernatural forces were at work, nothing could get him to budge from sitting at this table.

But even he couldn't count on the world of the mundane to save him.

Sitting a few tables away was the exact opposite of mundane. When the front door slammed shut, he stood up and walked to the customer with their head down. While all the men in the establishment wore their hair short, his was long and flowing like time itself. There was something other-worldly about him. Something ghostly in the way he walked.

With every step he took, his feet never seemed to touch the ground as if he was floating. And his pale complexion was just as macabre as how he carried himself.

Not a minute passed, and Daniel found himself standing outside by the fountain. With absolutely no recollection, he somehow left the restaurant and wound up here in the festive courtyard. As shock paralyzed him from head to toe, the only thought that occurred to him was this. What in the hell was going on?

Rather than sitting head down in the warm restaurant, he was out here, chilled by the biting European cold. Couldn't he have at least remembered the transition?

In front of him was the same woman he supposedly flirted with in the gardens. And judging from the blush on her cheeks, he just threw away all his chances at making up with you.

“Listen, I... I don't know you. Forget me. Forget this ever happened.” Daniel trembled, feeling a chill run down his spine as he staggered back a few steps. It was like a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. There was just no sound explanation for this when this situation wasn't sound at all. Whatever it was, this was clearly a case of sabotage.

And like hell he was giving in to whoever that masterminded it.

He ran back inside with a fearful kind of urgency. Rushing back to the table he unwillingly abandoned, he froze when he saw you marching towards him down the aisle with murder on your mind. But death was too lenient a punishment. It would grant him a clean slate, a new beginning from a past life of unfaithfulness.

So he was splashed with a glass of red wine instead.

As the crimson liquid soaked his hair, it spread over his shirt like blood. After you saw what he did, the last shred of hope you didn't know you had died, squelched out there on his clothes for the world to see. A chorus of gasps was heard from every corner of the restaurant. Unbeknownst to the patrons who murmured amongst themselves, it wasn't just any lover's quarrel they were watching.

Daniel's breath hitched as he struggled to process his mortification. Behind you stood the very gentleman that tapped him awake, but he never made the connection between him and his misfortunes.

And perhaps, it was better that way.

After leaving your boyfriend for good, Vlad offered to walk with you around the city. Once again, he had swooped in to save you, only this time around, he was staying.

“So... What are you gonna do now?” He asked, casting a tender gaze your way. Before you could wrap your arms around yourself, he beat you to it and flung his cloak around your body. When you gawked at him, he only grinned toothily with his fangs.

Your cheeks reddened and you turned away. Why he was still in his vampire getup was beyond you. But seeing his enthusiasm only reminded you that you lost yours. “... Book another hotel room. Spend the rest of this holiday crying. Maybe never think of this country ever again.”

“And I'm not letting you do any of those things.” He hummed, giving you a gentle squeeze. “Why do you think I'm walking with you right now, hm? I'm gonna take you around to the best spots in Transylvania. The most haunted ones, I mean. So you can forget about going back to the hotel.”

You sighed but managed a small smile. “That's great and all, but I'm not made of money. And my stuff is all there.”

He squinted. “... Oh yeah. But after we get your stuff, we can go elsewhere, can't we?”

A few laughs fell from your lips. His generosity really knew no bounds. “Your house, then? You do realize I only met you today, right?”

Vlad closed his eyes. He could beg to differ.

“But you're still walking with me alone. In the dark.”

“Only because you saw me cry twice today. I wouldn't be mad if you killed me so I don't have to be so embarrassed.” He frowned at the sound of that, so you added this. “I was just kidding. Something about you just makes me feel... Strangely comfortable. Like I've met you before. Isn't that weird?”

“... Not really.” Reaching the top of a hill, he stared at an old castle in the distance, sitting high up in the mountains. “There's a legend about this city. Hundreds of years ago, a vampire and a human woman fell in love. She died, of course. But people say he's still around, waiting for her to reincarnate so they can be together again.”

The way he spoke was so sad, it was almost as if he was that very vampire himself. But what did that have to do with you?

“... Okay. Then do you think he'll ever find her?”

Vlad turned to you with an unreadable expression, but there was an untold fondness in how he looked at you.

“He already has.”

[cellsshapedlikestars]

So Jon and Sansa both see a crime being commited and become prime witnesses to arrest this big crime mastermind (Petyr? Or maybe Tywin?) and they have to go to witness protection... Only witness protection makes them pretend to be a married couple when they actually don't know each other. Does that sparkle something in that brilliant brain of yours as a prompt?

Look I'm in a Mood™ today and wrote this in a weird fugue state so don't @ meeeeee. I also like barely edited this so who knows if it makes sense, and grammar? I barely know her.

Also, I don’t really know how to do trigger warning tags, so this is my warning that there are vague mentions of blood/gore/violence.

.

.

Sometimes when she wakes up, she forgets.

But then she looks around the room that isn't her room and she has to tell herself that it is. This is her room. This is her home. That is her husband downstairs making breakfast.

(And sometimes she wakes up unable to breathe, the dreams are so real; the blood and brains and pieces of skull spraying the wall in front of her, the sounds of men pleading for their lives. The strong arm wrapped around her, one hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming, the only thing that kept her still and quiet and hidden under the desk, the only reason she's alive. He's downstairs making breakfast.)

….

If there was ever a place to get lost, she thinks, it's here.

She stares out the window of her house, the same as every other house on the street. Row after row of identical houses. Neighborhoods of them, the suburbs stretching on forever. They've been here for two months and she doesn't even know her neighbor's names. The one across the street is Edmond, she thinks. Maybe. Edmure? No, if it were Edmure, she would remember, because of-

(But Alayne Stone doesn't have an Uncle Edmure.)

“I'm headed out.”

She turns to look at her husband.

“Have a good day,” she calls, just like she does every day. She watches him walk out to their nondescript grey sedan, just like he does every day. He backs it out of the driveway, then drives west, towards the main road.

…

They don't talk about before.

He is Aemon Stone. They met in college, in a geography course that they both almost failed, and they fell in love. They just got married and moved here - not that any of their neighbors have asked, so she's only had to tell that story to her new coworkers at the craft store.

They're trying to start a family.

(Jon, she thinks his name is, she remembers the agents calling him that, before they were handed folders with their new lives inside. But Jon is not her husband. Aemon is.)

…

Sometimes she likes to think she's a hero, giving up her whole world just to take down the bad guy. She's a hero, a martyr, the protagonist of her own daydreams. Her actions will save the lives of countless others.

(The reality is that she had no choice. They gave her one, technically, she doesn't have to testify against Petyr Baelish, but they all knew there was no choice. If she stayed, he would've found her. He would have killed her and anyone she could have possibly told about what she saw. She knows Aemon had no choice, either, and sometimes she wonders what he gave up. But they don't talk about before.)

…

She tries not to let her mind wander too much, but it's hard not to. Her life is routine. Mundane. She makes friends with her coworkers but she can't – she won't– let them get too close.

The problem with all her free, mundane time is that it gives her space to think – gives her time to regret.

She remembers that weekend, remembers thinking what harm could it do? Remembers thinking the bachelorette party sounded so fun. Remembers taking cash out to play the slot machines, ordering drink after drink until she felt numb.

It all goes a bit fuzzy after that. No matter how hard she tries, she can never remember how she got into the back halls of the casino, to the places where guests aren't allowed. She remembers a strange man kissing her, large, with scarring across his face, who told her that a pretty bird like her shouldn't be back here and demanded a kiss as payment. She remembers running, running, running.

If only she hadn't run.

If she hadn't run, she wouldn't have found herself in that room. She wouldn't have heard the door opening, turned around to see him, watched his face twist in horror when he saw her. He wouldn't have had to tell her get down, hide.

She remembers not being able to move, frozen to the spot at the sight of the gun at his hip. She remembers the way he'd pulled her down under the desk, one arm around her waist to keep her still, one hand over her mouth to keep her quiet, just in time, just before the door opened again.

(And she remembers the men who came in right after, the gruff where the fuck did Rivers get to?)

…

She's seen the tattoo.

(She doesn't think she was supposed to. Aemon Stone shouldn't have a tattoo.)

They try not to get in each other's way – he works days, she works closings. She sleeps in the master bed, he sleeps in a guest room down the hall. He wakes up early and makes breakfast and leaves her a plate. She eats while he goes for a run. But every once in a while...

That day he'd been coming back from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. She's never upstairs when he takes a shower, but she had gotten the urge to read, for the first time in months, and had gone up to grab one of the books that came with the house when she ran into him in the hall.

And there, on his chest, right above his heart, the mockingbird tattoo.

(Aemon Stone is her husband. He is not one of them.)

(But Jon Snow was.)

…

She probably should be scared, but she can never find it in her to be. Their handlers wouldn't have put them in the same house if they thought he'd hurt her.

(He's the reason she's alive. His arm around her waist, his hand over her mouth. Get down. Hide.)

…

Sometimes she wants to ask – why?

Why did he hide her?

Why is he here?

He was one of them, there's a tattoo on his chest that proves it.

Why did he save her? Give up everything for her to live?

…

She slips, once.

She's at work, in the break room, heating up a mug of soup in their tiny, low watt microwave. The break room TV is on, the news is playing, and then he's there.

Petyr Baelish, donating a giant check to an orphanage. Everyone's clapping and cheering him on and all she can hear are the screams of two men, pleading for their lives. Begging Petyr Baelish to stop. (They had wives and children and their screams echo in her head and-)

“Alayne?” her coworker, Myranda, shakes her arm. “I think your food's done?”

She's shaking so hard that the soup sloshes over the side of her mug and she apologizes as she cleans it up and Myranda asks if she's sick or something. She has to go home early because she vomits into the break room trash can.

At home, Aemon is watching football on TV and he's surprised when she comes home early. All he says is, “everything ok?” and she knows what he's asking.

“Everything's ok,” she tells him and he nods and she goes upstairs.

They don't talk about the past, but they don't talk about the present, either.

(And they definitely don't talk about the future.)

…

There's one time she doesn't wake up confused or breathless.

She wakes up screaming.

In her dream, he finds her. In her dream, Petyr Baelish walks around the desk and bends down and reaches under and pulls her out. In her dream, he tortures her like he did those men. In her dream, he puts a gun to her head, just like he did-

She wakes up screaming.

The door to her room slams open and she takes a gasping breath and looks up at her husband, standing in the doorway with a baseball bat in his hand. His hair is wild and his eyes are wide as they search her room and she tries to tell him it's all in her head but she can't make her voice work. When she tries, the words just come out as a small sob and she watches his tensed shoulders relax and he sets down the baseball bat.

She curls into herself and cries into her bent knees – for her dreams and her fears and the knowledge that this might never end. It's a choking, clawing abyss in her chest that's been growing as the days and weeks and months slide by – that she will never see her family again. She'll never eat mom's cooking or hear her dad yell at the TV when his team loses or see Robb's infectious smile or argue with Arya or talk about philosophy with Bran or watch one of Rickon's basketball games. She'll never get to play with Lady again.

She has kept them locked away inside her, tried to forget about them because Alayne Stone doesn't have a family.

The bed dips and she lets out another gasping sob as she feels an arm settle around her shoulders. “Alayne,” he says, and then again. Again and again, until - “Sansa.”

“I'm not Sansa,” she whispers when she finally looks up.

“Sometimes you need to be,” he says, his voice is steady and he brings one hand up to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. “It's hard, not everyone can just change who they are. Especially not like this.”

“You say that like you're some expert,” she sniffs, wiping at her cheeks now that her tears have slowed. She feels like a mess – her eyes feel hot and puffy, her nose feels raw, her throat is sore, but she also feels more human than she has in months.

He hesitates, seems to think hard about something before - “Aemon Stone isn't the first person I've had to become.” She jerks back a bit, but she doesn't pull away.

(He saved her life.)

“Who else?”

“Before this, I was Aegon Rivers.”

“I thought your name was Jon Snow? That's what they called you.”

“Jon Snow,” he says, voice low and soothing and she feels herself relax, settles into the warmth of his arms a bit more, “is a federal agent who went undercover with the Mockingbirds two years ago.”

She looks at him, then – really looks at him. At his grey eyes and his long face and his black hair wild from sleep, at the scar that runs through his eyebrow and the dark stubble that he meticulously shaves off every morning.

“Jon Snow fits you better,” she tells him.

“And Sansa Stark fits you.”

“I'm not Sansa Stark anymore,” she reminds him again, feeling her voice waver, though she thought she was past it. “This was just a bad dream, I promise I'll do better.”

“Like I said, sometimes it's hard,” he tells her. “And sometimes it's easy to forget who you are.”

“Is it for you?” she asks. He doesn't answer, but she thinks he doesn't need to, she can see it in him and she wonders how much of Jon Snow he remembers. Two years is a long time to be someone else. “I don't...” her voice breaks and she has to drop into a whisper. “I don't want to forget them. I know I have to-”

“What if,” he cuts in when her words fail her completely, “what if we're Jon Snow and Sansa Stark here?”

“They told us we-”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I don't mean... not in the house. Not during the day. But how about, once a week, at night, when it's just us, when the rest of the world is sleeping – I'll come in here and just for an hour, we can remember.”

The words make her ache and she nods and looks over at her clock. One hour – one hour to remember who she is and where she comes from. One hour to talk about anything and everything – about the past and the present and the future. It's not a lot and it's a risk and against the rules, but-

“Yes. Please.”

He nods and looks a bit grim and she wonders, once again – why? She doesn't think he wants to talk about Jon Snow. He's doing it for her – he's saving her life again and she still doesn't know why. Maybe she'll find out, some day.

“Ok,” he breathes, like he's jumping off the deep end, “Sansa Stark – what's your favorite color?”

[heartsofbeskar]

the red wolf

chapter two: a stolen gift

oberyn martell x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of death, a smooch™

words: 3.6K

excerpt: A few tears slipped down your cheeks, despite your best efforts. Oberyn gently swiped them away, bringing his forehead to rest against yours. You could feel his warm breath against your face, and it was pleasant, and smelled of the fruit filled Dornish wine he loved. His lips were tinted from it as well.

“Is there anything I can do, little wolf? I hate to see you this way,” he whispered to you, even though you were alone and shielded by so much greenery.

“Let me give you something,” your voice shook as you matched his whispered tone. “Before he can take it from me.”

a/n: the second chapter is here!! im having such a good time writing this tbh; this chapter is based on the first half of the season 4 episode the lion and the rose; im tackling it in two chapters since its a doozy

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The fresh air gently blew across your face as it cascaded over the top of the walls of Winterfell. You leaned on the wooden railing, smiling as you watched your brothers play below. They held wooden swords, clashing them against each other clumsily. Ser Rodrik would surely chastise them for the sloppy footwork, but you enjoyed their dramatics.

Creaking of the boards alerted you to a new presence approaching. Robb smiled gently as he came to stand beside you. He wore a fur robe draped across his shoulders, and you marvelled at just how broad it made him appear. You turned to face him, smoothing the stray furs into line.

“When did you turn into a man?” You teased. He brought a hand up and lightly pinched the skin of your cheek.

“Around the same time my twin sister became a woman.”

You swatted his hand away, but laughed. His eyes held a softness as he turned them away to watch Bran and Rickon, who now wrestled amongst the haybed. You reached for his hand, squeezing it.

“Something’s troubling you.” He didn’t bother to deny it; you had studied your twin’s face from the day you had both been born, after all. “Are you not excited to see the King?”

“I am, but …” He shook his head. “I cannot say I am thrilled with the prospect of my sisters departing at once for King’s Landing. Or my twin sister marrying a man there.”

“Robb,” you sighed. “We can’t stay children forever. Someday, this—” you gestured at large to the courtyard, “—will be yours to lead, along with the entire North. I will be your ears wherever I land — King’s Landing, or otherwise.”

He nodded, but still didn’t meet your eyes again, You pulled him forward by his hand, wrapping your arms around the soft fur on his shoulders. You rested your head on the plush surface, as he wrapped his arms around you in response, both of you leaning into the familiar embrace.

“I will come to see you often, this I promise. My heart will always be with you, in the North.”

—

Your hand was sweating as you laid it on the ornate handle of the large door of Lord Tywin’s office. It was silent inside and you prayed to the Old Gods he was out, having forgotten your appointment entirely. But he had requested it of you specifically via a handwritten parchment, so you knew that you would not be so lucky.

With a large breath in, you pushed the handle down. The door seemed to scream at you as it swung open; stay out, don’t come in here, run for your life from this wretched place all together.

As you suspected, Tywin was inside, head hung low over a parchment he was rapidly writing on, spread over his desk. He didn’t look up as you entered, though he must have heard you.

You slowly closed the door behind you, fighting the urge to flinch as it slammed back into place.

“Come here, girl.” Still, Tywin didn’t look up as he called out to you. Your hand clenched at your side at the name, but you quickly forced it to relax, taking short steps towards his desk. When you reached it, you stood in front of it awkwardly, waiting.

With a large flourish of the quill, he finally set down the writing implement, casting his eyes up towards you. He leaned back in his chair, assessing you. For what, you weren’t sure.

“Lady Stark,” he mused. “With the untimely death of all three of your brothers…you are now the true heir to Winterfell and the North.”

You swallowed thickly, pushing the unbidden images of Bran and Rickon from your mind, their young, innocent faces threatening to fester there. “My lord, I was of the understanding that the Boltons had been granted control of Winterfell and the North.” In exchange for the betrayal and murder of my twin brother, his unborn child, and my mother. You let the ending hang in the air between you.

Tywin tapped the side of his face, his eyes calculating. “Yes, it is true as Hand of the King, I have named Roose Bolton as Warden of the North. But we both know who the people of the North will rally to, if they are called. And that will always be a Stark, as long as one lives.”

You clasped your hands in front you, pushing them into the fabric of your dress, trying to dampen the sweat that collected on them. “My lord … I apologize, but I’m afraid I do not understand.”

He rose now, smoothing down the front of his tunic. Stepping around the desk, he approached you. Slowly, he took your chin in his hand, turning your head to varying angles.

“You are a virgin, yes?”

A chill ran its way up your spine. You nodded.

“Good.” He released your face, turning his back to you as he faced the windows overlooking the city, hands clasped behind his back. “Were you my daughter, I would’ve had you married long ago, but I suppose Ned Stark’s inadequacies are my opportunities. You will be wed to my eldest son, Jaime, once I convince him to quit this Kingsguard business. You will bear him sons, and they will be the heirs to both Winterfell and Casterly Rock.”

Your hands shook in front of you and you clasped them tighter together. When you didn’t say anything in response, Tywin turned his head to look back at you.

“You would do well to interact with him during these upcoming festivities for the King’s wedding. Now go.”

As if you’d be sprung free from a trap, you hurried to the door, eager to be free of this room, which felt like it had hardly enough air in it to breathe. You grasped the handle again when Tywin spoke one last time.

“And girl—” You froze, gripping the handle, breath caught in your throat, and the sudden anxiety gripped you that he would tell you to stay away from Oberyn Martell. But all he said was, “—shut the door behind you.”

—

You didn’t think you could stay away from Oberyn, even if Tywin had asked. It had quickly become a routine, him waiting across the path from the building which held your chambers. You clung ferociously onto the small shred of something predictable in the sea of chaos that this city had washed upon you.

As you tied your bodice behind you hastily, you craned your neck to look over at Sansa, where she was still nestled in the blankets behind you. Her side rose and fell softly in the rhythm of sleep. Padding over, you knelt down, pressing a light kiss against the crown of her head. She rustled momentarily among the sheets, but didn’t wake.

Oberyn was standing in the usual area, arm extended overhead to pry some fruit off a nearby tree. With a small grunt, he freed one that was round and reddish in colour — you were still so unfamiliar with the fruits that grew this far south.

Flashing you his enticing smile, he extended it out to you. You took it with gratitude, allowing him to loop your opposite arm through his. He was warm, the warmth of his skin radiating out as if he’d trapped the air of Dorne within his very body and brought it with him to King’s Landing.

He paraded you superficially through the garden paths lined with Lannister and Baratheon guards, their eyes smoothly looking over the pair of you, some giving small nods in greeting, used to the timely walks you took.

You took a turn down a hedge lined path, the green walls rising high above your heads, and the guard stationed near the next turn leaning back, his view obscured. Oberyn placed his hand gently at your back, pulling the branches back around the gap in the hedge you had found some days prior. You both slipped underneath.

The other side contained an obviously neglected portion of the gardens, some weeds overgrown and flowing out of their beds. Wildflowers had begun to bloom as well, their colours mismatched and vibrant, contrasting to those in the rest of the gardens that were tended to regularly. You much preferred these ones.

You sat on the nearby bench, tucking your skirts in around your legs, allowing the weight of the pretense of happiness to slip off, your shoulders relaxing. Oberyn sat beside you, his knee touching yours, heat radiating from the spot. You turned the still uneaten fruit over in your hands.

“You look far away today, little wolf,” he murmured. “Is it the King’s wedding?” He lightly brushed a lock of hair over your shoulder, fingers remaining to play with it.

“No,” you sighed. “Well, yes and no, I—” You paused, meeting his dark eyes. He stared back into you, waiting patiently. You wanted to lose yourself in his eyes, to dive in so deeply you could not see anything beyond them. “I spoke with Tywin Lannister.”

Something flashed in those eyes, briefly, but unmistakably. Still, he didn’t push you for any detail. He brought his hand down from your hair, settling it on your shoulder, thumb rubbing back and forth. It sat on the edge of your gown, and occasionally his skin came into contact with the skin near your neck. You suppressed a shudder at the feeling.

You finally broke eye contact with Oberyn, unable to look at him for the next words. “He intends for me to wed Jaime Lannister. As soon as he can convince him to leave the Kingsguard. Perhaps he will even overturn their oaths, so that Jaime can marry regardless …” You trailed off, shaking your head.

“What would you want? If you had the choice?” His eyes were warm when you looked back up, his brow furrowed. His free hand clenched where it sat in his lap.

“I don’t know, honestly, I … I thought I would be able to make these choices with my Father, but now—” You bit down on your lip harshly as a sob threatened to work its way up and out of your throat. Oberyn’s hands quickly came to cup your face, holding it steadily as you took deep breaths. “The Lannisters … have taken my home, my family. I don’t want to give them my future as well … there are so many things I don’t want Jaime Lannister to have.”

A few tears slipped down your cheeks, despite your best efforts. Oberyn gently swiped them away, bringing his forehead to rest against yours. You could feel his warm breath against your face, and it was pleasant, and smelled of the fruit filled Dornish wine he loved. His lips were tinted from it as well.

“Is there anything I can do, little wolf? I hate to see you this way,” he whispered to you, even though you were alone and shielded by so much greenery.

“Let me give you something,” your voice shook as you matched his whispered tone. “Before he can take it from me.” When your hands slid up to the back of his neck, you knew the implication was clear.

He swallowed thickly. “I do not want to take advantage of you when you are upset, little wolf.”

“Please.”

It was both a second and an eternity before he brought his lips to yours. Your heart pounded in your chest as his hands tightened on your face, guiding your head as your lips slid against one another.

After the first few presses, he stopped, though he didn’t pull back, your breath intermingling in the miniscule space between you. Your eyes were screwed shut, but you raked your hands up, into his hair. He gave a breathless laugh before crashing back into you, lips pressing insistently now, the taste of his sweet wine permeating into your mouth.

Firmly but gently, his lips pried yours open, hot breath pouring into your mouth, filling your lungs. You felt yourself begin to shake with the intimacy of it. It felt as if he were providing you a new sense of life itself, with every touch, every breath, every sound he made. You had no idea how long it had been.

He swiped his tongue, wet and hot, over your lower lip, before taking it between his teeth, pulling it with him as he finally retreated from you.

With a heavy sigh, he reached an arm around your waist, resting his cheek against yours, and you lamented that you couldn’t see his eyes. You couldn’t even imagine the storms within them now.

You breathed heavily against his cheek, winded as though you’d been practicing your riding. You pressed him tighter against you, turning to plant a kiss onto the edge of his beard. His free hand twisted up into your hair.

“Thank you.”

—

Your hands drifted through the copper strands of Sansa’s hair, twisting the locks delicately around each other, as your mother had taught you. You smiled as you recalled how Sansa used to sit for hours, just letting you practice braiding in her hair, happy to receive attention and affections.

By the Gods, she had changed.

You pushed the thought aside as your hands left her, and you leaned over to peck her cheek, which had been dusted with rouge. “You look beautiful.”

Sansa wouldn’t meet your eyes in the mirror, staring at her own hands curled in her lap. You laid your hands on her shoulders, squeezing lightly.

“Sansa … this is a day to celebrate. Because you are not the one marrying him.” She looked up to meet your gaze, her eyes brimming with conflicted emotions.

“But they made me marry his uncle. A man decades my senior, an imp, I …” She shook her head. “He hasn’t hurt me, but that doesn’t mean he won’t. Joffrey had to have gotten his sense of cruelty from somewhere.”

Your hands tightened where they held her. “I will never let him touch you. Or anyone, Sansa. I mean that.”

She stood, shaking off your grip. She was taller than you now, all long lines and elegant neck and the deep, irreconcilable sadness of her eyes.

You wondered if she saw that in yours, too.

“And what if you’re not there?”

You wanted to tell her that you always would be, that no force of man or the Gods could take you from her. But the words caught in your throat. The words your mother and father had told you, as well. Words that had proven not to be true, in the end.

A knock on the door from Shae saved you from the moment. She escorted you out into the bright southern morning. Everyone you passed seemed to have an extra bounce in their step, an extra swing to their arms, extra wide smiles on their faces. Apparently it didn’t matter how awful the King was, if there was still a wedding to throw.

You had to admit the attitude was infectious. And a well needed relief, after the months you had spent waking in terror, your dreams filled with your sister being married to King Joffrey, irreversibly tied to him by the laws of Gods and men.

The King’s breakfast was being held in the gardens, in full bloom now and having been prepared for weeks for this event. A long table sat as the clear focal piece of the area; Tywin, Cersei, and Cersei’s young son Tommen sat there already. Cersei and her father were discussing something in a low voice, despite the loud levels of ambient noise.

A chill shot down your spine as Tywin’s sharp eyes fell upon you, and you looked away quickly.

“This way, my lady,” Shae urged Sansa towards the direction of the King’s table, and you gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as she left your side.

It was clear the breakfast would not be starting until the King arrived, so you wandered the elaborately decorated area.

Everything seemed to drip in gold, the sheer grandeur of it all overwhelming to your eyes. Tables were laden with every type of fruit and cheese you’d seen since arriving in King’s Landing, and some you hadn’t seen. You spotted one of the red, sweet fruits that Oberyn had picked for you the other day.

“Lady Stark.” Jaime Lannister approached where you stood, hands awkwardly clasping behind his back. You’d heard the rumours from the maids that he’d returned from captivity with one less hand. You hoped Robb had been the one to take it.

“My lord,” you greeted, giving a shallow curtsy. You weren’t exactly sure what the appropriate address was for a man who was not your betrothed but likely would be once he bent to his father’s will.

“Are you enjoying the … uh …” He swallowed. He gestured with one hand — a flesh one — to the surroundings. “... festivities?”

You nodded. “Yes, it’s all very beautiful. You must be very happy to be here to see the King marry.” You knew the words came out somewhat clipped, tense, but you could do little to smooth them.

“I— well yes, it’s been…” He trailed off, clearing his throat. His eyes shifted around the area, seeming like they didn’t want to settle on you where you stood. “I … I know this is no consolation, but I admired your mother. She was a strong woman. A strong mother.”

Swallowing thickly, you cast your eyes down to the table, hand clenching at your side, eyes burning suddenly with the weight of his words.

He started to flounder, obviously putting together that this was not the right thing to say, but before he could sputter himself into a frenzy, a warm hand slid over the small of your back.

“Lady Stark, I was in search of your company.” Oberyn was there, his hand a steady weight against you, reassuring. “If you will excuse me, Ser Jaime.” He flashed a dashing smile at Jaime, who nodded eagerly for relief.

“Thank you,” you sighed, as he led you away from the buffet table. He stopped you once you’d reached a round dining table, which you assumed he’d been seated at. Turning you slightly, he placed a hand to your cheek, looking at you intently. Heat rose to your face as you wondered who was watching.

“Was he bothering you?” he asked, his voice impossibly low.

You shook your head, eyes unable to tear away from his. “No, no, he was just … no.”

For a moment you both stood there, unable to move, until a serving aide passed close by, snapping the tension like a matchstick. Oberyn’s hand left you, pulling out a chair for you. He sat beside you, posture relaxed as he poured goblets of wine, the sweet aroma wafting from the cups. He placed one in front of you, noticing your brief hesitation.

“Do you drink wine?” He smirked, watching as you held it beneath your nose.

“I have tried it, but …” You eyed the contents. It was dark in colour, so rich you couldn’t see through the liquid to the bottom of the cup. “At feasts in Winterfell. I always thought it tasted vile.”

He laughed at that, his head thrown back, and you admired the column of his neck, the golden skin, the muscles you could see move beneath the skin, the smattering of stubble that came down from his beard. You wanted to run your lips up it.

“Try it,” he insisted, bringing his own goblet to his lips. “They do not know how to make wine in the North. A Dornish wine will change your life.”

You smiled at him over your cup, raising it to taste the drink. Sweetness bloomed on your tongue, filling your mouth with tastes of fruits you’d had and fruits you never could have imagined. Heat seemed to follow its trail down your throat.

“Do you like it?” He smiled at you. His hand casually reached up, trailing up and down your arm.

“Oberyn …” You eyed his hand wearily. You couldn’t bring yourself to push it away, but you knew it was too bold of him to touch you so knowingly in the open. At the King’s wedding breakfast, no less.

He was interrupted in whatever he was going to say by the arrival of the King, who settled at the head table, where Tyrion had joined Sansa. A line of lords, ladies, and nobles brought forth gifts of all kinds. Oberyn rested his arm on the back of your chair. A goblet from Mace Tyrell, graciously accepted. A book from Tyrion, which Joffrey scoffed at.

You could feel the tension roll off of Oberyn in waves as the Mountain approached the table. You placed a hand on his thigh underneath the table, where no one could see, squeezing there. He carried a sword, which he placed on the head table. Tywin stood.

“One of only two Valyrian steel swords in the capital, your Grace, freshly forged in your honour.”

Valyrian steel. Freshly forged.

The words were ringing in your head as Joffrey excitedly unsheathed the sword, swinging it wildly.

“Such a great sword should have a name. What should I call her?”

Calls came out from the crowd around you.

“Stormbringer!”

“Terminus!”

“Widow’s Wail!”

“Wolfsbane!”

Your breathing was heavy.

Joffrey smirked. “Widow’s Wail. I like that. Every time I use it, it’ll be cutting off Ned Stark’s head all over again.”

You shut your eyes, hand unintentionally grasping tighter onto Oberyn’s leg. He gently pried your fingers off, and you turned to apologize, but he just flipped your hand over, intertwining your fingers, hidden under the table covering.

And as you looked at him, you thought you could see that same irreconcilable sadness in his eyes, too.

—

taglist: @asta-lily @pedrostories @rpcvliz @xsadderdazeforeverx @elinedjarin @qhbr2013 @punkerthanpascal

[sailorshadzter]

in morning light.

"I love you," are the words which he breathes against her skin, warm and true, soft but strong. His hands follow close behind, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as they caress even the soft, ivory skin of her thighs, of her hips, of her breasts. Jon's hands spread across her, leaving fire in the wake of his touch, rendering her breathless, speechless. "I'll love you forever...." his whisper is at her ear, in her hair, all while his hands trail the length of her spine. His touch fuels her in a way in which she's never felt before, in a way she never wants to let go of again. "Sansa..." Even just the way he says her name is enough to make her heart flutter, the warmth that fills her up threatening to overflow.

For a moment, she must pause, hands to his cheeks, his little bit of beard rough against her palms. His eyes are bright in the light of the hearth, the glow casting him into a golden haze. "This is real?" She has to ask, just to be certain, fearful for a single moment that she might wake to find this has been just a dream. A wonderful dream, but a dream all the same.

"Aye... It's real," he says with a grin, his own hands sliding into place over hers. "I've dreamed of this night while I've been away," he goes on to admit, sobering slightly, those Stark gray eyes serious once more. "It was the only thing that kept me going." He thinks back to all those long, sleepless night away from her, the one thing pushing him on being her. Each time he thought he might give in and give up, he would think of her and know he must go on. He had gone to war for her once and surely, he would do it again- in truth, Jon can't think of a single thing he wouldn't do for her. That was the power she held over him, a power he's certain she's not even aware of. "I've missed you," he says for the second time that day, but this time his words are accompanied by a kiss.

Her only response is to kiss him back.

[ x x x ]

Later, as Sansa sleeps peacefully beside him, Jon can't help but to marvel at her beauty.

Her features, long since committed to his memory, are still yet striking. Perhaps even more so in a moment such as this. The long, red hair he's admired since childhood is far more beautiful by the moonlight that spills in through the parted curtains; ivory skin is soft and he was surprised to find the freckles that dotted her cheeks also adorned her shoulders. Tenderly he reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face as she sleeps, knowing that if given the chance he would willingly wake up beside her every single morning. But he can't, he knows that, and so he slips from beneath the furs and dresses in the dark. A moment before he goes, Jon returns back to her bed and leans over, just so he might press a kiss to her temple.

Out in the hall, as he steps out from her chamber, he finds himself face to face with Sansa's ever loyal lady knight, Brienne of Tarth. For a moment, they merely stare at one another, until Brienne gives a quick nod, perhaps of understanding, before she slips around him and disappears behind the door he's only just come out from.

It's only a few doors down from Sansa's rooms that he finds his own, dark and cold without a fire burning in the hearth. But it matters not, he's already as warm as he ever could be. Knowing the morning call was not far from sounding, he fumbles until he finds his cloak, draped over the back of a chair, and swings it arounds his shoulders. These furs he's worn since that morning she had presented them to him many months ago, even before their retaking of Winterfell, mean more to him than perhaps any other thing he has ever had before.

And so he smiles, as he always does when he thinks of her.

[ x x x ]

When she wakes, she's alone.

Of course she must be, but it stings despite that knowledge, and she sighs as she pushes back the furs she lays beneath. "My lady," Brienne greets only a moment later, coming into the room with every intention of waking her, as she's slept through the morning call. For a moment, she must stop to take in the sight of her young mistress, with her tousled red hair and wild eyes, wearing a look she's never before worn. "I thought you might sleep all day," she says as Sansa swings her legs over the bed and rises up. Brienne is there in an instant, offering her the robe in which she had earlier that morning draped over the chair nearest the fire, warming it.

Sansa blushes a shade of crimson that could rival even her hair and pushes past her sworn shield, choosing to instead sit herself at her mirror, picking up her brush so she might begin to brush out her hair. Brienne shakes her head, but chuckles as she reaches down to pick up the long since discarded nightgown on the floor beside the bed. "Do you not find it to be wrong?" Sansa's voice breaks into her thoughts and Brienne turns back, only to find the young woman as set aside both brush and blush, blue eyes focused in earnest on the only other person she trusts in this world besides Jon. "Do you not..." She cannot finish the words, instead she turns away, suddenly unable to face Brienne. "Do you not find it shameful...?"

The only sound that comes is the heavy footsteps of Brienne crossing the room, all so she might sink to the floor and level herself to the girl she's pledged her life to. "Lady Sansa, there is nothing you could do that I would find shameful," Brienne speaks softly, urgently, her tone forcing Sansa to turn back to face her. Their eyes meet and as always, they understand one another, and Sansa can't help but to smile. "So long as you are safe and you're happy, then so am I."

It takes only a moment before Sansa has thrown her arms around her knight's neck, embracing her in a way she's never done before. Now, it is Brienne's turn to blush, her lips curving with a smile of her own as she returns the embrace.

When she's alone a short while later, dressed and hair twisted in braids, Sansa can only wonder as to how she's become so very lucky.

[ x x x ]

"In the crypts... You'll be safest down there."

His voice is a whisp of smoke, so soft that she thinks for a moment she must have only imagined his words. But then his hands are gripping hers, his Stark colored eyes wild and frantic as he speaks her name, bringing her back. "I have to go," he says, leaning in so he might tilt his forehead against hers, their hands clasped between them. "I love you, Sansa," he whispers and she closes her eyes, a single tear streaking the curve of her cheek. "When I come back..." He doesn't get to finish, for they both hear the sounds of approaching footsteps, and it's just as he finally lets her go that the door to her chamber swings open without ceremony.

It's Arya, who stops for only a moment to glance from older brother to sister, noticing at once the energy that fills the room. "They're waiting for you," she says slowly, focusing her own gray eyes closely upon the pair, noting Sansa's teary eyes and Jon's twitching hands. "Brienne will be here soon to escort you to the crypts," Arya says, rather than what she wants to say, and steps forward to press a small blade into her sister's hand. When Sansa opens her mouth to voice her concern, Arya shakes her head and smiles. "Stick 'em with the pointy end," she repeats the words that Jon had spoken to her so very long ago. Jon smiles. "Well let's go." Arya raises a hand and gestures for Jon to follow behind her.

She turns just as the door falls closed, only to see Jon holding onto Sansa as if she were the one thing anchoring him to the earth. And so she chuckles, hoping that when the run rises next, Jon and Sansa might finally get their chance at happiness.

[ x x x ]

When the door to the crypts opens and the glimmer of dawn spills in, she knows it's over.

The hush of death greets them as they tip toe up the cracked, stone steps, leaving behind as much destruction as they find above. A shudder runs the length of her spine as she takes in the horror all around her; the dead and dying litter the grounds, the man nearest to her crying quietly as he whispers the name of the wife he's to leave behind. Something cold twists in her belly and she closes her eyes, as if this is enough, as if this single gesture will make everything else go away.

She opens her eyes and finds it has not worked, for the landscape is still that of a battlefield, ravaged and bloodstained.

But all is not lost, for a moment later she spots not only Arya, but Brienne, traipsing back up the way from the godswood, Arya pushing Bran who from a single glance looks unharmed. Her heart skips a beat and she's rushing forward, throwing her arms around the little sister she's almost lost far too many times. While Arya strains to free herself, complaining of her wounds, Sansa's eyes have already fallen upon another, coming up from beneath the canopy of trees. It's Jon coming now, bruised and battered, but very much alive. "Go..." It's Bran and she turns to look at the younger brother she loves, but barely knows. "Go to him." He urges and something about the way he looks tells her that he knows everything will turn out alright in the end.

And so, before she can stop herself, she's running for him.

She's running like she did that first day back in Castle Black, towards the only sense of hope she's ever felt. When he takes her into his arms, he swings her around, uncaring of all the eyes upon them. Somewhere in the distance, violet eyes watch the scene, but Daenerys' heart is far too wounded to feel the sting. When her feet are back on the ground, Sansa buries her face into the crook of his neck, the feel of his arms around her waist unlike anything she's ever felt before. Someday she would realize that it was love she felt, pure, unyielding love.

He holds her at arm's length now, staring into her smiling face, knowing she shines so brightly because her family still yet lives. That they have won. But Jon must wonder... At what cost? He thinks about how soon, he will have to break her heart with news of Theon, but for now, he can only pull her back into his arms, thankful that he was there to do so, thankful that she was safe. In the distance, the sun continues it's slow ascent over the horizon, casting the snowy world into a quiet, pink haze of morning light.

They had finally made it to morning.

[tomakeitbeautifultolive]

Something I've been wondering about: If Jon comes back as a fire wight like Beric Dondarrion and unCat, will he be able to get it up? Blood won't really be flowing in his body anymore, so would his dick be powered by fire magic or something like that?

I, too, have spent a great deal of time pondering Jon Snow’s dick, Anon. 😏 Jokes aside, I will admit right off the bat that most of what I have to offer is total speculation, but over-thinking the most minor details of ASOIAF happens to be my favorite pastime, so let’s go!

Like pretty much everyone who read the quote, I was totally thrown off by the “fire wight” revelation. Here’s the quote for reference:

“..poor Beric Dondarrion, who was set up as the foreshadowing of all this, every time he’s a little less Beric. His memories are fading, he’s got all these scars, he’s becoming more and more physically hideous, because he’s not a living human being anymore. His heart isn’t beating, his blood isn’t flowing in his veins, he’s a wight, but a wight animated by fire instead of by ice.”

So, an important distinction to make here is that this quote is about Beric Dondarrion specifically, not Jon Snow.

The condition of Jon Snow’s corpse might matter

George can be very clever with how he words things. Note that he goes into Beric’s deaths, describing multiple resurrections and how he’s falling apart before stating that his heart is no longer beating. It could be that a fresh “fire wight” might still possess bodily functions—at least at first. Catelyn, too, was a very sorry looking corpse by the time she was reanimated, therefore not a great comparison, either. Especially since it’s Beric rather than Thoros who, with very little life force to lend, resurrects her.

If nothing else, Jon will be “fresh”, and his location at the Wall means the low temperatures will help preserve his body even if the resurrection takes some time. 

And speaking of the Wall… there happens to be a special lady there who could help Jon, and whose powers happen to be amplified by the magic of the Wall...

Melisandre is profoundly more powerful than Thoros of Myr

Thoros may be a red priest, but otherwise he seems to be a pretty normal human man. We get a clue about when he converted from Jaime:

“Jaime had once heard Thoros tell the king that he became a red priest because the robes hid the winestains so well.”

Relatively recently, one might guess, as most children aren’t yet drunks. Further, he was never very dedicated to his faith, even questioning it at times.

Melisandre, on the other hand...

“Melisandre had practiced her art for years beyond count, and she had paid the price. There was no one, even in her order, who had her skill at seeing the secrets half-revealed and half-concealed within the sacred flames.”

While we don’t know much about her, this confirms that she spent countless years studying her craft, and no one in her order can match her skill. And no one believes in their faith more than Melisandre. Like in the television series, it’s a safe bet that she’s actually much older than the natural human lifespan, particularly if she managed to lose count of how many years she’s studied magic.

If Melisandre is the one to resurrect Jon Snow, she might not use a ‘last kiss’ method at all, or, if she does, it could be more powerful than anything Thoros is capable of.

Unlike Beric, Jon Snow is probably the prophesied prince

Speaking of Melisandre’s ability to glimpse secrets in the flames… there’s someone she sure seems to see a lot of:

“I pray for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, and R'hllor shows me only Snow.”

“Skulls. A thousand skulls, and the bastard boy again. Jon Snow.”

“The flames crackled softly, and in their crackling she heard the whispered name Jon Snow. His long face floated before her, limned in tongues of red and orange.”

I know. There is some contention about who the Prince that was Promised is. Regardless of whether you agree that it’s Jon Snow, you’ve got to admit that Melisandre is seeing him in the flames for a reason. And if he’s not the prophesied prince, then perhaps his blood has something to do with it. It’s likely that, for some reason, the combination of Targaryen and Stark blood matters. At least, Rhaegar Targaryen seemed pretty convinced...

Whatever Jon Snow’s business is in Westeros… it’s unfinished. And part of that unfinished business might just involve becoming a father.

The emphasis put on Jon fathering a child is notable

Let’s go back to Jon’s first chapter ever. It opens with Jon at Robert’s feast, the author uses Jon’s eyes to describe the setting and multiple characters. And then enters Benjen Stark. This is when we really get to know Jon. When you read this passage, really consider the author’s intent here:

"You don't know what you're asking, Jon. The Night's Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor."

"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

"You are a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly.

"You might, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son."

Jon felt anger rise inside him. "I'm not your son!"

Benjen Stark stood up. "More's the pity." He put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Come back to me after you've fathered a few bastards of your own, and we'll see how you feel."

Jon trembled. "I will never father a bastard," he said carefully. "Never!" He spat it out like venom.

Suddenly he realized that the table had fallen silent, and they were all looking at him. He felt the tears begin to well behind his eyes.

This is how George R.R. Martin chooses to introduce us to Jon Snow. And gods, that always hits me right in the gut. It’s absolutely supposed to. Jon’s trembling, venomous anger is palpable. You feel the deep hurt and resentment in his words, right down to his core. Jon says he doesn’t care—but the bite in his words and the tears welling in his eyes tell us otherwise.

Jon Snow easily embraces his vow of celibacy. At first. And then comes Ygritte. And after getting his first taste of love and later flirting with the idea of becoming a lord when it’s offered to him by Stannis, Jon Snow begins to imagine what it might be like to have a wife...

“I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall.”

And look what happens the moment he does dare to dream of it...

“I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade.”

And the feeling transitions into an almost tangible hunger felt by his wolf, Ghost.

Speaking of Ghost…

Grab your tinfoil! ‘Cause Jon’s life might’ve already been ‘paid for’ ...By Daenerys

First… in case you didn’t know, Daenerys is probably a skinchanger:

“The slightest pressure with her legs, the lightest touch on the reins, and the filly responded. As she turned to ride back, a firepit loomed ahead, directly in her path. A daring she had never known filled Daenerys then, and she gave the filly her head.”

Basically, it goes like this:

As Daenerys wanders the Dothraki Sea in search of food after being whisked away by Drogon, she hears a wolf’s howl.

“Will (Ghost) howl for me when I'm dead, as Bran's wolf howled when he fell?”

Feeling lonely yet no less hungry, she eats some strange green berries. Her stomach begins to cramp.

“My flesh will feed the wolves and carrion crows, she thought sadly, and worms will burrow through my womb.”

Unfortunately, Daenerys then experiences some horrible diarrhea. Poor girl! I don’t bring it up to be crass, but because this purge bears striking resemblance to an earthly drug called Ayahuasca—a substance that, aside from emptying your bowels, is often used as a means to ‘open your third eye’ (Just as Bran does in the crypts, and he can finally reach Jon and Ghost…)

Dany falls asleep and begins experiencing trippy dreams about her brother—perhaps even achieving contact with the other side? Then...

“When she woke, gasping, her thighs were slick with blood.”

Assuming it’s nothing more than her period, Dany begins to wonder the last time she bled—hinting that it might’ve been a little while.

“The sight of so much red frightened her. Moon blood, it's only my moon blood, but she did not remember ever having such a heavy flow.”

Maybe a bit of a stretch, I know. But… this wretched and graphic scene of Dany’s loose bowels really made me wonder what in seven hells George was thinking. I was so embarrassed for Dany that I HAD to figure out why he’d do this to her.

And my best guess is that she’s using these latent skinchanging abilities to tap into this strange connection with the “blue rose” over at the Wall of Westeros and the silent wolf who finally howled for help upon his death… And so, Dany’s miscarriage may be the death that will pay for Jon’s life.

I might’ve found some more evidence to back this claim up, this is very new ‘evidence’, so bear with me:

“Fire”, in the world of ASOIAF, often translates to “life”. As is seen here in Sam’s speech following Aemon’s death (thanks, bridge4!):

“He was the blood of the dragon, but now his fire has gone out.”

Further, according to the wiki:

“When a follower of the Lord of Light dies, priests fill their mouths with fire and breathe flame into the deceased”

In the House of the Undying, Dany receives a series of chilling prophecies, one of which happens to be about fires:

“Three fires you must light, one for life, one for death and one to love”

I know, I know. Drogo’s pyre, the Khals, etc etc. But George might be playing with double meanings here… So, if we think of fires as conceptions, this could maybe mean:

One in exchange FOR the Dragon’s lives (Life)

One in exchange FOR Jon’s resurrection (Death)

One conceived (likely with Jon) and carried to term (TO love)

Food for thought! Especially considering that, like Jon, Dany possesses the blood of Old Valyria, and these sacrifices are probably all the more powerful as a result. But even if I’m dead wrong about that prophecy, well, fire still broadly means life, which bodes well for our brooding ‘bastard’, who might just end up as a “fire wight”.

Hopefully something in this drivel has given any Jon fans reading this a little bit of faith that, despite the slight setback of death, Jon will still be able to exercise his, uh, virility when he finally meets Dany. 😅 Thanks for the ask!!

[asphyxiateher]

Only Monsters Come Out At Night

Chapter 2: Say My Name. A/N: Rough draft I’ll be posting to AO3 later after I go through the edits. Enjoy now, I’ll be polishing it later. I personally would let Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters step on me but that’s just me

Warnings: Character death, graphic descriptions of violence, gore, horror. Elements of non-con. 

              Time had no meaning for Desdemona anymore as her entire being floated comfortably into a quiet void. She was only accompanied by the sweet sound of silence that filled her ears and that in itself was comforting. She was in such a deep state of sleep that it felt like she would be trapped in the peaceful state of purgatory for eternity, but alas that would no longer be the case. Desdemona thought she was dead; in fact, she wanted nothing more than for that to be the case. Unluckily for her, she was about to wake to unfortunate events that would lead her to believe she was trapped in Hell. At first, she sees nothing in her field of vision but then she hears the shrill sound of familiar laughter that sends a shiver down her spine. The black abyss she grew accustomed to deteriorated all around her, a blinding flash of white light surrounds her for the briefest of moments before Desdemona’s eyes finally opened to reveal the disturbing scene before her. “Mother, my pet is finally awake! Oh, I was growing ever so impatient, my darling little one. I was so desperate to peer into those gorgeous eyes of yours again, I was tempted to pluck them out of your skull as you slept.” A voice whispered dangerously into her ears behind her, wet lips gently wrapping around her right ear before it was released with a pop. “Cassandra, you foul thing, learn your place! How many times do I have to say that it was I who found our prize? Do not touch what does NOT belong to you!” Screeched the woman with the green pendant as she materialized by her side in an instant. It didn’t take long for the fact to register that this was the first time that Desdemona could finally get a better look at the women who attacked the group in the village. Now that their hoods were down, she could better identify them by not only their hair color but by the manner of which they spoke and the pendants they wore. The way they continued to fight over her made her stomach turn as she struggled to comprehend why they wanted her alive and what they were going to do with her.

Another black mass of insects appeared and disintegrated into nothing just as quickly as the third woman decided to chime in, her yellow pendant gleaming brightly against the dimly lit room. Her dirtied, dark brown hair tickled Desdemona’s face as she leaned dangerously over her, the smirk on her face growing wider when Desdemona’s breath grew heavy again. She raised her hand and playfully walked two fingers up Desdemona’s arm and over her collarbone before she roughly grasped her prey’s chin and forced her to look directly into her eyes. “Hello, pretty little plaything, you’ll find that my sisters lack manners when they’re lusting over irresistible blood. You should feel honored you made quite the impression as you did. The others you brought with you are undeserving of your company and you’ll find that they deserve punishment simply by existing. Mother will see to that soon enough.” The brunette told her quietly as she straightened back up.

‘Wait, what did she mean by punishing the others for simply existing? Where were Desmond and Veronica?’ Desdemona worriedly thought to herself. The younger Hawthorne sibling attempted to move but she didn’t realize her wrists were restrained by old fashioned shackles until it was too late. She suddenly felt herself being lifted to her feet by the two crazed sisters standing on either side of her. Each woman occasionally nuzzled into her neck and sniffed at her, nipping at her and licking exposed skin whenever the impulse struck.

Desdemona glanced around her environment and realized that they must be inside the castle if the polished flooring, centuries old artwork and beautiful grand staircase were of any indication. Where else would they be after getting lost out on the trail?

The frightened young woman made the mistake of looking over to her left and found that the red-haired woman known as Daniela was staring at her with a glazed look in her eyes. The sight of her lips parting and blowing her a small kiss made Desdemona’s heart nearly jump out of her throat. She couldn’t avert her gaze out of fear and Daniela took that as an invitation to flirt the only way she knew how. She brought two fingers to her face, spaced them out to a “V” shape and made an obscene gesture with her unusually long tongue, moaning loudly when Desdemona blushed and looked away. “Don’t be shy, my love. Once we take care of Mother’s unwanted pests, we can finally be alone together and I’ll taste you once and for all. You’ll find that I do want to eat you but only in the best way possible. You wouldn’t deny me the pleasure, would you?” Daniela growls out, her eyes fluttering shut as the sound of Desdemona’s blood rushing through her veins and her rapidly beating heart thudding against her chest awakened a whole new need in Daniela. Desdemona wanted to cry out but refrained from doing so when she realized somebody else was coming.

Heels could be heard clicking from afar, a door slamming open and voices shouting in protest behind what seemed to be an impossibly tall, statuesque women. Desdemona’s jaw dropped for two reasons: The woman who entered the room dramatically exuded such class and confidence that it didn’t look awkward in the manner in which she had to bend so far low to pass through the doorway. When she uncurled herself from the uncomfortable position, her golden eyes met gray uncertain ones and they immediately pierced through Desdemona’s soul. The woman brought out a whole new level of terror within her. The second reason Desdemona’s mouth remained agape was due to the fact that the mysterious woman dragged along the wounded bodies of both Desmond and Veronica.

‘They’re still alive!’ Desdemona thought, hope rising in her chest the moment she saw both her best friend and twin reacting to her presence. “Des, you’re okay! Christ, the way these fucking things were talking about you, I thought the worst happened.” Desmond called out to her, desperation in his voice as he attempted to crawl his way towards his sister. Veronica tried to break free from the intimidating woman’s grasp but the woman merely raised a perfectly manicured brow in response and tugged on the chains wrapped around both Desmond and Veronica. They had collars clasped tightly around their necks and they choked as a result of the chains being pulled back.

When Veronica glanced back at Desdemona, the furious expression on her face softened when she noticed the bedraggled state her friend was in. Desmond noticed it too and it only served to fuel his anger. “What the fuck did they do to you? I’ll kill them, I’ll slit their fucking throats and make them pay if they so much as tried to ra-,” Veronica began but was immediately cut off with a harsh slap to the face. “Goddamn, bitch!” “Silence, vermin! Speak when you’re spoken to or you’ll learn your place soon enough should you continue to use foul language in my house. Now, pray tell my daughters, what is it that has you all so eager about entertaining this particular foreigner?” The elegant woman asks as she gives Desdemona a once over. The manner in how she reacts to inhaling Desdemona’s scent alarms the younger Hawthorne sibling. She decides to inspect her more closel with flared nostrils and enlarged pupils. She seemed…pleased, for whatever reason. ‘Do they plan on sacrificing you to appease whatever wicked deity they believe in?’ Desdemona nervously asked herself.

One of the daughters, the one known as Bela and the one with the red pendant, spoke first. “We were out on the hunt in the village when I suddenly picked up on her delicious scent, mother. She’s a carrier of our favorite blood type. We haven’t had anyone like her in so long, we were hoping we could make a feast of her with your permission.”

Desdemona tensed up at the suggestion and vigorously shook her head. “M-may I ask what w-we did to offend you and your daughters? I apologize for any wrongdoing, ma’am but we’re just Americans on vacation and we ran out of gas on the way to Bran! We weren’t expecting to get lost but please let us go, we didn’t come out here to hurt anyone!” She pleaded with tears streaming down her cheeks, her eyes flicking from Daniela to Cassandra and finally, the incredibly powerful woman standing before.

“Des, don’t go begging them. They’re not going to listen to reason, believe me; we tried!” Desmond warned.

The quiet dark-haired woman, Cassandra, sneered at Desdemona’s twin and slashed at his face with her sickle in hand. Desmond cries out and attempts to cover his face with his cuffed hands only to have them ripped away. She kicks his chest and flattens him on the ground. Cassandra smiles wickedly as she brings her heel to the open cut and presses hard against his face for a moment, stomping on him a few times for good measure. Both Veronica and Desdemona scream, begging the sadistic sister to stop tormenting him but their pleas fell on deaf ears.

“Good, girl, Cassandra. The hideous man-thing won’t shut his hole. I’m this close to gutting him on my newly polished floor and letting you girls get your fill for the evening. Ugh!” The woman in charge said before looking over to you once again. “It seems your exotic little treat has good manners considering what she is, however, and wishes to bargain with us. I can be a most gracious host and I’m all ears but I have two conditions if you wish to prolong your life, little one. Allow me to introduce myself first. I am Countess Alcina Dimitrescu and these beautiful girls of mine are my daughters Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela.”  

Veronica scoffed and spat at the floor, earning a glare from the titan of a woman who was apparently on the edge of snapping. Desdemona was ready to leave in one piece so of course she stepped in and spoke on behalf of her brother and her furious friend. “P-pleasure to meet you all, I’m Desdemona Hawthorne and that’s my twin brother, Desmond and my childhood friend Veronica. Ma’am, or My Lady, this all has to be a colossal misunderstanding and we are willing to pay any price if you allow us to leave and return home.”

The trembling girl gasped the moment she felt a pair of cold hands wrap themselves around her breasts from behind. Another set of hands reached for her belt buckle and began undoing her jeans rather enthusiastically. The next thing she knew, her v-neck shirt had been torn in half and her pants torn and ripped off her body.

“Desdemona, such a lovely name and what a lovely body. Mother, please let me keep her? I promise I won’t break her.” Daniela whined as she rubbed her hands up and down the length of her victim’s bare torso. It didn’t help the situation at hand when Daniela’s touch left Desdemona arching back into her, which must have sent the wrong signal because the delusional woman squealed with delight.

“If you or Cassandra had it your way, you’d bleed her dry on the first night and waste her blood when I would savor every inch of her until her very last moment!” Bela complained, her fingers inching dreadfully closer to the band of her undergarments.

“Get your filthy fucking hands off my sister, you twisted bitches. Stop fucking touching her! I’ll kill you, I swear it!” Desmond bellowed, managing to pull away from Lady Dimitrescu’s clutches and lunged at the women that were touching his twin inappropriately. He swung his arms at Daniela and used the length of the chain to whip against the side of her body. Daniela, caught off guard by his sudden attack, screeched in surprise and this immediately angered Alcina.

“ENOUGH!” Lady Dimitrescu signaled for her daughters to apprehend Desmond and the girls obliged, their concern for Daniela overwhelming even to them. Bela and Cassandra ambushed him on either side and using their transformative powers, they pulled him away from their youngest sibling and slammed his body against the nearest wall. Cassandra pinned his shackled hands above his head while Bela held onto his thrashing legs tightly.

Veronica was breathing heavily but made no move to run to him, not while Alcina held her leash tightly. Her brows were furrowed, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip as she tried to refrain from saying anything that would cause them to harm Desmond.

Desdemona could only cry out for mercy as it physically pained her to watch her own twin suffer at the hands of these monsters.

Meanwhile, Alcina had been hunched over Daniela and whispered disturbingly soothing things into her daughter’s ears, words expressed by a loving mother to her daughter, and it looked almost normal. When Alcina stepped away from Daniela, she composed herself after displaying what she deemed a moment of vulnerability and shot Desmond a withering glare. “How dare you touch my daughter with your filthy man-hands, you wretched creature. I can see there is no taming a wild animal like you and like all wild animals, they must be put down! I was ready to lay down my conditions if I were to let you leave alive but you really screwed yourself. Desdemona Hawthorne, seeing as you were polite and tried to communicate in a manner I found pleasing, you shall be gifted to my daughters as their personal form of entertainment. You will be their plaything, and your trashy friend, Veronica, who is now under my employ as a house maiden, will be forced to clean you up after every time they choose to play with you. She will be beaten and broken until she learns what it is to be obedient.” Alcina growls out menacingly, enjoying the way Veronica begins to hyperventilate at the terrifying concept of being broken in by someone like Lady Dimitrescu. Alcina drags Veronica across the room as she approaches Desmond and Veronica is now desperately trying to claw her away from the elegant countess. Raising her free hand in the air, sharp elongated claws form almost immediately at the tips of her fingers. It was in this moment that panic begins to set within Desdemona as she realizes what she’s about to do and so she attempts to rush Lady Dimitrescu. Daniela is quick to catch her prey and uses force to subdue Desdemona. She slams her knee against Desdemona’s back and brings her down to her knees, hooking both of her arms from around and underneath the smaller girl and forcefully raises her arms up. “Let this be a hard lesson, my darling. Don’t you ever disrespect my mother in her own home or disobey her when she gives you an order. There are worst things than death, love, and they wander the mansion unsupervised at night.” Daniela whispers into Desdemona’s ears before bringing her attention back to her mother. Heart hammering against her chest, Desdemona’s blood runs cold when she sees Desmond shed a tear at the realization that he was going to pay the ultimate price. In a quivering voice, Desmond beckons his sister to look at him one final time.

‘Oh no, no no no. They can’t do this, they won’t do this! I have to help him. I’m not sure I can live without my other half, it would be too cruel for me to go on without him!’ Desdemona thinks, weeping at the sight of her twin brother sacrificing his own life for hers. “P-please, my l-lady, let him go I beg you! Don’t hurt him please, I’ll do anything if you let him go. Don’t take him away from me, please.” Desdemona begs. Steely gray eyes meet hers and she recognizes that he is resigned to his fate. She sucks in a deep breath, unwilling to break eye contact as he says his final goodbye. “See you on the other side, Dezzy. Promise me you’ll make it out of here. Mom deserves to know. I love you and V…so very much.” He tells her with a wavering voice. In the background, Veronica is verbalizing her objections and pleads for Desmond’s freedom but in the end, it was all for naught.

With an evil smirk and a deep chuckle, Alcina brings down her claw at Desmond’s abdomen, slashing him so deeply that his innards begin to seep out of him.

Desdemona feels like she’s suffocating, her lungs unable to function as she struggles to make a sound no matter how much she wants to cry out her brother’s name one more time. She throws her head back and opens her mouth to wail but nothing comes out but a few choked coughs. The surviving twin couldn’t explain it but it felt like Alcina personally reached into her chest and destroyed the most important part of her being. Desmond was her other half and upon death, a most profound connection between siblings is severed and there lies nothing left but an echo of what was once there. Desdemona felt…empty, as if she would never be whole again now that her brother was gone.

She shuts her eyes and the horrifying image of Desmond’s intestines piling up on the floor and blood sloshing everywhere replays again in her mind. The hurt is renewed and this time, she summons every ounce of emotion she could as she screams out his name, Veronica’s loud, panicked screaming fueling her grief.

“DESMOND!”

She screams it over and over again until her body slumps in Daniela’s arms. She’s too weak to do anything else. She can hear voices and the sound of heels clicking but she can’t hear what is being said. Desdemona tries her very best to drown out the background noise as her sorrow was too great but Cassandra’s voice breaks her out of her reverie and it is what she murmurs in Desdemona’s ears as she passes by that makes her whimper for an entirely different reason.

“Just you wait until I make you say my name like a prayer, love. This is only the beginning.”

[sondrawr]

Where Monsters Dwell

“What kind of place is this?” “The kind of place where fairy tales live and monsters dwell.” —Smoke Bitten

Adam Hauptman is intimately acquainted with fear. It was born in a jungle in Vietnam and never quite left him. Even in his happiest moments—of which there were many, especially recently—it lurks in the fringes. Lying in wait.

When he sees Mercy broken on the burnt grass, seemingly dead, he feels that fear claw up his chest and strangle him. He blacks out for god knows how long, his worst fear playing like a feedback loop in his mind. It isn’t until Samuel, still wolf, bites him in the arm that he finally comes to.

That’s how Adam finds himself, naked and half covered in blood, cradling Mercy’s body. His pack huddles around him, worry creasing their faces. He feels the stink of his fear billowing out of him like smoke, choking everyone around him.

“She’s alive, damn it!” Gary finally manages to gasp. He is panting, voice raspy. How long had he been trying to tell him?

Adam reaches down into himself and feels for that thread-thin bond that connects him to his heart’s mate. It’s there, flickering. He grasps it in both hands, wrapping it around his wrist, anchoring himself to sanity. To her.

Mercy survives that night, like she has done so often before. But one day her luck will run out; his fear whispers the words he knows too well. She’s not like Coyote—damn the man—who resurrects like the sun every morning.

Adam hates beyond telling that her unconquerable spirit is wrapped in such an insubstantial thing as human skin and bones.

:::

Adam first met Mercy Thompson in Montana when she was about thirteen years old. He was up on business, Alpha of a New Mexico pack and newly engaged to a blonde, 22-year-old coed named Christy.

Mercy at the time, before the deaths of her foster parents robbed her of childhood, was still all scraped knees and awkward arms of adolescence. Jutting chin and slumped shoulders—defiant and bored.

There was a ghost of a bruise on her face from the accident where she wrapped Bran’s brand new sports car around a tree. He had heard of that incident within hours of it happening, as he suspected most wolves did, even across the ocean. Mercy’s antics were already famous.

She sat on a chair outside Bran’s office, the scuffed toe of her sneaker knocking into a leggy console table nearby. Looking at him sidelong, she had the air of someone waiting their turn at the principal’s office.

When the door finally opened to let him in, he asked, “What did she do this time?” He stepped around Bran to enter the office.

Bran’s mouth pressed flat in an irritated line, while Charles smirked in the corner. He was the one who answered: “Something about chocolate Easter bunnies.”

“She poisoned a group of boys at school,” Bran snapped, closing the door a little too roughly behind Adam.

“Really?” That seemed a bit extreme for the young girl, whose reputation for pranks were mostly harmless, if effective.

“She injected several chocolate Easter bunnies with ipecac,” Charles explained. “And then warned the boys not to steal them, or ‘they would pay.’ They, of course, did not listen. Apparently the boys had been in the habit of stealing the younger kids’ candy for a while.”

Adam laughed despite himself.

“She wants for discipline,” Bran said with a frown.

“Mercy has plenty of discipline,” Charles answered. “It’s the focus of it, that’s the problem. Her interests are too narrow and she has an overdeveloped sense of justice.”

“And her foster father can’t do anything?” asked Adam.

Charles smirked. “If Mercy were a wolf, I wouldn’t be surprised if she outranked him. Any good she does is out of love for Bryan and his mate, not because of fear or intimidation.”

That was, Adam realized, the principle by which Mercy lived her life. It was the driving force of all she did for her family and friends—the pack she forged for herself, not with magic ties but by fierce loyalty and reckless love.

:::

It has been months since she recovered from her devastating injuries. Injuries that Samuel said at first would be the end of her. Her survival is nothing short of a miracle and, Adam suspects, a bit of Coyote’s magic.

Now night holds new terrors for him. He lays in bed at night just listening to the steady beating of his mate’s fragile, mortal heart. Dreading the day when it would inevitably stop.

:::

Mercy was twenty-three when he next saw her in the middle of a Washington desert. Alone in the world but still causing trouble. The first order of business for his newly arrived pack was eliminating the rogue wolves who were harassing her. Saved without so much as a thank you.

Was it coincidence or conspiracy that brought her to the Tri-Cities when Bran had ordered Adam to move his pack north from New Mexico? Coincidence on her part probably, but definitely not Bran’s, whose machinations were wide reaching and infamous.

That Adam bought the property behind her trailer was pure, ornery spite on his part.

She had marched up to him on the first day of construction and stuck a finger in his chest. “Tell Bran that I don’t need a babysitter,” she told him, eyes flashing. “I’ve done fine for eight years without his help—I’m done with wolves.”

“Good to know,” he answered, because he knew that response would drive her crazy, and turned back toward the construction of his pack house. He imagined her making faces at the back of his head and smiled.

:::

He kisses a line down her body, pausing at the shiny-pink of each new scar. Scars she earned in defense of his pack—in defense of him.

And he knows his love is killing her.

Oh god, would her life be better without him? Yes, the fear—the monster—inside him says. Yessss. We will kill herrrrr.

Panic like bile rises in his throat, and he gulps it down. Beneath him Mercy tenses, sensing his change of mood. He murmurs quietly, nuzzling her, lulling her back into softness underneath him. His lovely Mercy. His mate, for who he would willingly lay down his soul, let alone his body.

Whom he would kill for. Without question.

This. This will be his goodbye, then.

He presses a kiss to her inner knee, to her neck, and then presses into her, drawing a sigh from her lips. With his own he continues his careful ministrations, whispering a benediction against every mark on her skin that dares to be there because of him.

:::

His touch is a disease. His touch is a curse.

He can’t bear lying next to her and not touching her, so he doesn’t. He stays late in his office. He sleeps in the spare guest room. It’s killing him, but every day she’s alive, and it’s worth it.

It’s killing him that she wanders the house with those empty eyes, a line of concern between her brows, the hurt and confusion that clearly marks her face.

But at least she is alive. And soon, it will be over.

:::

Adam’s favorite memory of Mercy—the one he thinks of before he puts the gun to his head—is of her in the wedding dress too fancy for the church reception that his pack and daughter put together. She’s dancing with Jesse, at the heart of the people he loved most in the world, swaying to a country song blasting from the church’s ancient speaker system. And she turns to him and smiles.

He can see it as clear as if it were right in front of him. There was so much love in her face then. How different are those faces, the one from his memory and the one Mercy wears at this moment, when she finally sees him for the monster he is.

But she is not disgusted and horrified, as he feared she would be. She is furious. She throws a barrage of words against him, her unfettered anger like a battering ram.

In the years Adam had known and loved Mercy, he has become intimately acquainted with her many moods. Sneaky, playful, worried, content. They were as familiar to him as the feel of Mercy’s calloused hands in his.

Her white hot rage was something entirely new. And through clenched teeth she seethes a truth so utterly profound, that in that moment it shatters the madness that grips him. He lowers the gun in his hand.

Three simple words they had spoken to each other again and again. Whispered in passion and in play. Promised—sworn.

“You are mine.”

:::

He believes her. And for now, so does the monster.

You are mine.

You are mine.

You are mine.

He follows her home, to bed. And though he can’t make love to her like he wants, he worships her body with oil and hands and mouth.

It isn’t until she is completely sated and asleep when the monster rips through his body again. A monster that he now realizes is the ugly marriage of his own fear and self loathing, and Elizaveta’s death curse.

But instead of hurting his mate like Adam fears, the monster scrabbles out from beneath the covers and huddles in the corner of the room. It sits there watching his mate, the covers rising and falling to the rhythm of her breathing.

Within a few minutes, the even breaths stutter and stop. “Adam?” she calls, voice rough with sleep.

It’s the monster that growls in response, and Adam waits. It didn’t work, he thinks. The monster is still here. Will you finally leave me like you’re supposed to?

And still he remembers her promises: You are mine. You are mine. You are mine.

“For fuck’s sake,” she says sounding annoyed. “Get back to bed. I’m cold.”

Oh, my Mercy.

After a moment, the monster cautiously approaches the bed, and it creaks under the sudden weight. It wraps itself around her, tucking her head under its chin. She draws up the covers over them both, and they settle to sleep.

For the first time in a long time Adam prays. Let this be enough. This love. Let me be enough to keep her safe.

If God is kind and he is lucky, maybe it will be.

Maybe the monster will love her, too.

[wulfies-kpop-fanfics]

One Photo → Mark Lee [5]

↳  Pairing: Mark Lee/Reader

↳  AU: Soulmate!AU - The first touch of two soulmates permanently scars their bodies.

↳  Warning: Smut, loss of virginity, unprotected sex

↳  Word count: 6,964

↳  Chapters: Prelude | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | You Are Here! | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

⁙ Summary: For an end of the year photography project, you’re tasked with taking a photograph for your favourite group, NCT127, and coincidentally, discover your soulmate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FRIDAY - 5 - Part 1

The covers that enveloped you were warm and soft, keeping you nearly trapped under the weight of a thick duvet. Time ticked by slowly as you found the most comfortable position in bed. 

Mark's body was pressed taut against you, and you could feel nearly every inch of him attached to your backside. His arm was draped over you, his hand casually coming to rest over your tummy, only he had put in the lazy effort of slipping it underneath your nightshirt. 

Even when Mark is asleep he's driving you crazy. You doubt he's even noticed that your skin is twitching under his touch, the comfort and warmth of blankets making every feeling warmer and sensitive. You feel his steady breath tickling the back of your neck, his pelvis pressed against your ass, and you let out a whimper when he adjusts himself. 

"(Y/N)?" Mark's voice is groggy and filled with sleep. He grips your hip gently, fingers sliding over the flesh of your side. "Are you okay?" 

"What would you do if I told you no?" You ask sheepishly, turning around in bed so you were facing him. The darkness of your room left a lot to the imagination, but you could still slightly make out his twinkling eyes. Again, you felt like he was staring straight at your soul. 

"Then I'd ask why you're not okay," he says, and you can tell he's smiling at you. His hands are beginning to wander up your body, from your hip to your waist.

"You, silly. I can't get you out of my head. Everything you do sets my heart on fire - I can't sleep or study, I-" another whimper escapes you when you feel his index finger gently flick your nipple.

"You do the same to me," he admits. "I can barely keep my hands off you. You're intoxicating…" his hand slides away from your breast, running down your arm to grasp your hand. "Here," he guides you down to tuck your hand underneath the pant line of his sweats, his member hard and hot. You circled your hand around it and Mark sighed in relief.

You suck in a sharp breath. "Mark," 

"Don't talk," he commanded lowly. "Just kiss me, please," 

Through the darkness, your lips met in a wet kiss. His hips thrust into your hand, causing him to groan and separate from the kiss so he could rest his forehead against yours. 

"Good," he groaned, closing his eyes tightly and licking his lips. "Fuck, grip it harder." 

As soon as you comply and tighten your grip on his cock, he moans again and began thrusting harder into your hand. Hearing and feeling all of this nearly floods your underwear, and you wished that he was fucking you instead of your hand. 

Mark kisses you again, desperate. You can feel the puffs of him breathing through his nose on your face, and you can barely keep yourself sane.

"Mark-" his voice rolls off your tongue once you manage to break his kiss, as if you were begging, and he barely slows down. He tightly holds your shoulder, and you think it might bruise. 

"Y-yeah?" 

"Please," you really feel like you're begging now. 

(Y/N)!

That wasn't Mark's voice. 

"(Y/N)! (Y/N)! (Y/N)! (Y/N)!" 

Groaning, you begin to open your eyes. The room isn't quite bright yet, and suddenly you feel a great weight on your abdomen. 

"Mark?" You ask dumbly, the figure shaking you awake not quite clear enough for you to see. 

"No, it's me!" 

One you realize you can move your arms, you bring your hands up to rub your eyes. Your vision clears up and you realize Rhiannon is sitting on top of you, looking down on you with a giant grin on her face. Her hands are gripping your shoulders tightly, enough that you wince.

"Rhiannon, what the hell?" You ask, barely reaching your glasses that were perched on your desk. You slip them on and even further notice that she is shirtless. "You woke me up. Put a shirt on."

"I know, dummy!" She exclaims. "Look!" She shoves her chest further into your face until you see it. Puffy scar marks in the shape of hands on her shoulders. 

"You have-" 

"Donghyuck is my soulmate!" 

You’re too tired for this, and coming out of a dream that surely will not leave your brain. “Rhiannon, I’m happy for you, but can you please get off me?” Raising an eyebrow, Rhiannon lifts herself from your body and sits on the edge of your bed. She’s still grinning like a maniac, tracing the scars. “My hand marks are going to be on his chest,” she reminds you, tapping her feet excitedly on the floor. “I’m gonna rip off his shirt tonight so I can look at them. And do other things. As you do.” 

Groaning, you peel the covers off yourself. “Jesus, TMI,” you say, rubbing your eyes. “You’re way too excited about this.” Rhiannon scoffed. “You’re not excited enough! We’re soulmates with two members of NCT! How amazing is that?! All the fanfictions in the world could never have actually prepared me for this! What should I wear?” You’re soon enough drowning out her hushed ramblings on if she should try looking for a new dress at Forever 21. “I’m happy for you, Rhi, but you should really stop worrying so much. Didn’t you have an outfit planned out a month ago?” You ask, standing up and moving out of your room to start the day, Rhiannon following close behind.

“Yes,” she replied immediately, watching you dig through your clean clothes for the outfit you set aside for the day. “But now that I know I’m Donghyuck’s soulmate, I think I should wear something better.” “We’re going to an NCT concert, dude. NOT wearing neon green is gonna make you look just plain weird. Just go with what you picked out.”

Rhiannon sighed, conceding with a dejected nod. “I just don’t know if he’ll like it or not.” You smile, finally pulling out your own neon green tank top and blue shortalls. “He’ll love it, stop worrying.” You pull on your own outfit, adding a handmade hairband with the word 마크 written in little neon felt letters atop it. "How do I look?" 

"Stunning, as usual," Rhiannon replies, smiling. "I'm gonna go get changed. See you at the venue." Rhiannon disappears into her bedroom as you grab your backpack and a granola bar, heading out to the last class of the week.

Let's hope I don't trip and ruin my clothes…

Friday. Two days left to submit your final for evaluation, but if you were to get the grade you wanted, you decided to submit it at the end of class. From your locker, you pulled out your finished portfolio, a playfully decorated photo book covered in stickers and polaroid photos. All that was left was your mini-essay.

You arrived into class and greeted Moose warmly, quickly letting her get back to her own project that she was finishing up. Once you sit down at your computer, you read through your document that you had been working on whenever you weren’t with Mark.                                       - Final Portfolio and Bonus Objective - 

                                                  Love in Photographs

                                                          (Y/N) (L/N)

                                                         Ms. Prentice

                                                     Photography 203

In this essay, I will address the personal effects of photography and how, in the second and final year of my program, my entire life has changed within a week’s time. In this final, my photos will reflect on why I chose to use the concert program as my focus. 

Photography is, to me, an incredibly emotional profession. From weddings to sprawling landscapes, a photo will mean something to someone. It means a beautiful memory that will last forever, the progression of nature and our planet, or solid evidence of a crime that could provide closure to a mourning family. 

Photography can also have an impact during the social interaction of business. It didn’t occur to me for nearly two years that I’ve spent studying the profession. When I signed up for the concert program, I was just a fan of the group I happened to see a flyer for. NCT is a K-Pop group currently touring in North America and the group that hired me for the program. 

It was my emotional connection to them that made me want to take the job. It was thrilling to think about working for them as my first clients, even if it was a co-op program. I wanted to meet them, talk with them, learn what they wanted and do my best to make it a reality. The program was always going to be an emotional experience for me, but I truly learned about how photography was an emotional two-way street after I met Mark Lee in person.

After this week, I truly believe that everybody winds up getting the jobs they’re supposed to get.

Mark Lee is the main subject of my portfolio and a member of NCT. He was the person I spent the most time with, and considering the specifications of NCT’s commission, he was the person I worked with the most. While NCT specifically asked for one singular photo, Mark was insistent on spending time with me, letting me take photos of him for my project. The day after meeting him, my scars appeared. Mark Lee was my soulmate, something that I never thought I’d find - and would never have looked for intentionally. 

The connection we formed was stronger than any other emotional bond I’ve had throughout my life, and from that moment on, every photo I took was a passion project. Sealing my soulmate in the immortality of a photo was exhilarating. Something I could keep close while he was away. It made me think of future clients, an image was clear in my head of someone asking me for the same thing. Something to see and remember even if the subject of that photo was too far away to touch.

In the past, I had been sceptical of having a soulmate of my own, but I knew I had to dampen my prejudice for the sake of future clients, especially those looking to hire me for their wedding photos. In wedding ceremonies, I would be photographing soulmates that could be naked for all I knew. Soulmate marks could appear anywhere, after all. Still, my worldview made me reluctant to think about that branch of career. I told myself I would only photograph wildlife or do fully clothed modelling, even if that decision cut my clientele in half. Until Mark Lee.

In this portfolio, you can see Mark on various outings with me and the rest of NCT, or just posing for the sake of a ‘cool picture with the subway in the background’. Photographs don’t need to have a purpose as a photograph holds meaning no matter what the subject is. For me, the photos in this final represent letting go of my fears and finding love, humbling myself and seeing that I can branch out and do more than I planned. Instead of seeking grandeur, I want to take photos of anything someone might find the smallest amount of happiness in. A smile, a flower, a kiss. Even if someone is worried about asking for something that may seem trivial, I want to assure them that if it means something to them, it means something to me, too.

Any photo here of Mark Lee, or even the one photo I took of NCT, to me, is a symbol of love. To make new friends and experience a culture different from mine, to see their dreams become a reality in front of me. If this final project before I graduate is the gate to my own dream coming true, these photos will definitely represent my passion. To see more than just myself. To see others and the love they share for anything this world has to offer. 

Originally, the portfolio I was going to create was going to be just one photo from the program, but in the end, over half of what is included was from the past week. An emotional connection to the world and everything in it is every bit important in the world of photography as skills with a camera. Both of which I hope to carry into the world with me as my career truly begins.

Satisfied, you saved your work and went through it once more with Grammarly to make sure you hadn’t let any mistakes slip past. Your heart beats rapidly in your chest as you send the document to the classroom printer, knowing that once you tape your essay inside of your portfolio project, it was time to submit early and wait for your teacher’s sign of approval on your graduation form. After submitting your papers into the printer, you make your way to the classroom’s printer and log in to your account, selecting the pages you’ve sent to it. Now it was time to wait. Your phone buzzes, and you pull it out to read a text. Mark: How’s class?

You: I’m almost done my paper 

You: Gonna submit it and then I can leave early

Mark: Sweet see you soon?

You: Yeah, see you soon

Mark: I can’t wait, I had a strange dream last night

Before you can reply, your paper finishes printing. Deciding to answer his text later, you return to your desk and finish up your final. You quickly flip through the book to make everything is secured, and with a deep breath, you stand. Ms Prentice is smiling at you from her desk, beckoning you over once she realizes you have your portfolio in hand. 

“Glad to see my top student is still consistent,” she said in a sing-song voice, taking the portfolio from you as soon as you reach her desk. “Are you sure you don’t want to take the weekend to add more? I heard the concert you’re attending is today.”

You shake your head. “No, ma’am. I completed the task I was hired for, so any photos I take at the concert won’t have an impact on the messages I want to convey.” 

She smiles at you. “I look forward to looking through it, then. You’re dismissed if you have nothing else to complete here.” “Nothing else unless you have a task for me,” you answer, smiling down at her.

Ms Prentice shakes her head, still smiling. “Go ahead, enjoy the rest of your day. Say hello to Mark for me. He’s quite the polite young man.” Blushing, you nod. “Okay, I will.” 

As soon as you stepped outside the classroom, you breathed a deep sigh of relief. All of your finals were completed and after the final week of classes, you would prepare to graduate at the end of June. 

After making a quick stop to the arts building to pick up a photo frame, you put on some music and headed out to the streetcars. It was still quite early in the morning, so you had a place to sit down during your trip to the venue. You noticed you still hadn't answered Mark's text, you decide to do so while you waited. 

You: sorry, was submitting my final - prof says hello

You: I'm on my way now

You: What do you mean by strange dream?

It didn't take Mark long to reply. 

Mark: travel safe

Mark: Well it's a little embarrassing to explain kinda 

You: I had a dream too last night with you in it 

Mark: what happened in it 

You: you stayed with me last night and you slept in my bed 

Mark: and that's it?

You: hell no >\\\> 

Mark: I think we had the same dream

You: how did it end?

Mark: well, uh, you know…

You: mine ended with rhiannon waking me up so I think mine got cut off 

Mark: oh 

Well I think you can infer what ended up happening 

You: aaaaaaaaaaa 

Mark: I just wish I could have stayed 

You: I wish too but I'll be there soon 

Mark: I'll meet you at the station

You: arent you worried about fans swarming you

Mark: nah it's too early for any fans to be showing up since everything is seated there is no reason to camp out 

You: okay as long as you're sure 

You: Thank you

Mark: of course <3 

You: I'm really nervous 

You: That dream I had felt really real 

Mark: it did for me too 

You put your phone down and licked your lips. If anything, you would have loved to live out that dream. Go all the way. It made your body ache thinking about it, but it also made you nervous to think about sneaking around the others if you suggested it to Mark. 

You arrived at your stop, a little surprised the place was mostly empty save for Mark sitting inside one of the bus shelters. As soon as he saw the streetcar pull up, he stood to wait for you by the curb. 

Mark was still dressed in casual clothes, jeans and a black t-shirt with a pair of yellow converse. That probably meant they hadn't started getting ready for performances yet - which was reasonable considering it wasn't even midday.

Mark smiles when he spots you through the window, waving at you as you exited. Without a word you approached him and trapped him in a tight hug.

"Woah," he whispered, wrapping his arms around you. "Are you okay?" 

"Yeah," you reply into his chest, voice muffled. "I just missed you." 

Mark kissed the top of your head, "I missed you too." Gently holding your shoulders he separated from the hug. "Come on, let's go inside." He takes your hand and squeezes it gently, smiling down at you with a blush consuming his cheeks. 

Mark leads you across the street and toward the venue, enjoying a comfortable silence blanketed under the warm summer sun. Just as you reach the maintenance doors, he pauses. "Oh, I almost forgot. Here, you'll need this." Mark reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled up lanyard. On the end of it was a laminated card that had the Neo City cover photo inside with "Backstage Pass" written on the bottom.

"Oh, thank you. I almost forgot about these." You let him put the lanyard around your neck, smoothing it out gently. He smiles and nods approvingly, then continues leading you inside. 

There are people milling about, hauling things into the stadium from trucks. You don't have to explicitly show your lanyard, you assume, because you're with Mark, but workers are still cautiously watching you as you pass by. 

Once you two enter the arena, you notice that you're close to the back section, where you originally bought tickets for. You spot everyone lounging around the stage that looked like it was just finished being put up. Rhiannon is there as well, sitting with Donghyuck and Jungwoo.

The arena itself was smaller than the largest one you've been to for another concert the year before, but it was still impressive. You take a quick look around, noticing the different sections and the VIP rooms that were attached to the ceiling. This place was originally for hockey, after all.

"Hey, guys!" Mark calls into the stadium. Everyone perks up from their conversation and wave at you, prompting you to wave back sheepishly. "Do you want to go see them, or?" Mark held your hand tightly, speaking softly. 

"What do you mean?" You look at him, eyebrows furrowed in curiosity.

"You know… what we talked about. Make time?" There's something in Mark's eyes as he speaks like he's begging you, the usually bright and playful twinkle in his eyes replaced by love and need. His gaze flicks from your eyes to your lips, and he steps a tiny bit closer to you. 

Before you can answer, you hear Rhiannon shouting in your direction in Korean. You quickly glance at her, and even though you're too far away to see her face properly, you can tell she's making an obscene gesture at you - making a circle with her thumb and index finger, passing the index finger of her other hand through the circle. The other guys burst out laughing, and you feel your cheeks light up in an embarrassed blush.

"Uhm, what did she say?" 

Mark smiles awkwardly, face bright red. He still keeps eye contact, licking his lips before answering your question. "She said she better not catch us trying to fuck in the hallway again…" 

You press your forehead into his chest, groaning. "Now they all know about that?!"

Mark chuckles gently. "Yeah, I'm sorry. It's okay though, they're all understanding, I promise. Come on, I have a place for us to go. If you want, that is." 

"Y-yeah, but I don't want them to make fun of us…" Mark once again begins leading you out of the stage area and into the main hallway of the venue. 

He holds you close as you walk, "I promise that they won't. They can have their fun now, but they'll be doing the exact same thing when they find their own soulmates."

You guessed that you could agree with him on that. You're not exactly sure where he could be leading you as you eventually approach a stairway. Mark stops, searching your expression silently.

"Are you okay, Mark?" 

He licks his lips again when he hears his name. "Yeah, I'm okay. I just want to know if you really truly want to do this, and not because you feel pressured." 

You gently squeeze Mark's hand, nodding. "I really want this. I give you my full and utter consent. I don't want you to be uncomfortable or pressured, either." 

Mark smiles gently at you, relieved. He starts to go up the staircase. "That's why I came here with Donghyuck earlier than the others. Come on, we're almost there." 

A little confused by what he meant, you let Mark keep the lead. At the top of the staircase was another smaller hallway lined with doorways. You figured it was to the observation boxes you saw when you were in the arena. He leads you to the end of the hallway, stopping at the final door.

"This one," Mark says to himself, looking back and smiling at you. 

"You're not-" 

Mark quickly opens the door and holds it open for you, allowing you to enter first. The premium seating area was a lot fancier than you expected- and a lot more closed off. The window overlooking the stage was covered by a black curtain, leaving the room dark until Mark entered the room behind you, flicking on the lights and setting them to be dim. He closed the door behind himself, leaving the two of you truly alone.

On the left of the room was a little kitchen area, complete with cabinets, a mini-fridge and a counter with an electric kettle sitting atop it. In the corner of the counter was a little sink accompanied by soft-looking tea towels. By the window was a bar table with some high chairs, next to it a coffee table shoved against it. On the left of the room was a couch with a soft blanket spread over it. 

Mark kicked off his shoes and set them by the door. "What do you think?" He asked shyly. "We have this room until about 2, so plenty of time before people start looking for me."

"Wow," was all you could really muster, also managing to slide off your own shoes. You set your backpack next to them, placing your lanyard on the top of your bag. "You really did this just so we could have some time alone?"

"Yeah," Mark moved to stand in front of you, gently taking your hand and bringing it up to his face so he could kiss your knuckles fondly. "It beats a broom closet or the hallway outside your apartment," he grins. 

Your face goes red as your memories flood of his knee nearly meeting your crotch the night before. "Yeah, you're right. Thank you for making me comfortable." 

"Of course," he replies cheerfully. "Want me to make you some tea?" 

"No, thank you," your gaze meets Mark's and you swallowed thickly. "I really can't get that dream out of my head," your voice quiets to a whisper, like someone outside could still hear you.

Mark's expression changes quickly, from cheerful to something you could almost discern as predatory. "Me neither," he agreed, his voice deeper and softer. "Can I kiss you?" 

"You can do a lot more than that," you manage to breathe out before his lips are on yours. You wrap your arms around his torso, grasping the cloth of his t-shirt. His hands are resting gently over the jean material covering your hips, mouth moving against yours perfectly. 

You whimper into the kiss, deciding to be a little bold. You untucked his shirt from his jeans and slide your hands underneath the fabric. He takes in a sharp breath once your hands land on his skin, and he breaks the kiss.

"Wow," he sighs, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. His face is flushed and he's smiling warmly at you. 

You sigh in return, swallowing thickly. You want to kiss him again, but he backs up. The next thing you know, he's pulling off his shirt, the fabric landing gently on the floor. Mark then begins guiding your hands to touch his chest. His skin is smooth and soft, toned but not too muscular. His hands are wrapped softly around your wrists, guiding but not completely controlling where you touch.

"Feels good," he sighs, and you wonder if you should stay bold.

"I have an idea," you whisper, your gaze flicking to the couch for a moment. "Sit down?" 

Mark silently agrees with you, both of you approaching the furniture. Mark sits down first, and you take a moment to drink in the view. He's already nearly panting, watching you and running his tongue over his lips. 

Even though his soulmate scar has changed much of what his chest would originally look like, you see his pecs, hard nipples and the outline of nearly formed abs on his tummy. Your eyes continue down to the small black trail of hair that ends your gaze at the band of his boxers peeking out from his jeans. You can tell he's already half-hard in his pants, but you try to not let your gaze linger out of shyness.

"You're stunning, Mark," you say, possibly paralyzed as you stand in front of him. 

He smiles, reaching both arms out to you. "C'mere," he says, "I want to know what you had in mind." 

Licking your own lips, you nod and approach him, climbing onto his lap and straddling him. You gently kiss him once more, and when you back away, he tries to follow and catch your lips again. You shake your head at him, feeling his hands wander back to your hips.

Taking in a deep breath, you dive in. First, your lips meet the crevice of his neck to his traps, lightly trailing your lips across his skin. You feel the slight swelling of his scar, then normal skin as you end your little expedition on the edge of his shoulder. Placing a hand on his chest, you feel his heartbeat, a little fast-paced but steady. You close your eyes for a moment, readying yourself and hoping that he was going to like what you were about to do.

You lean back to look Mark in the eye, even if he is already lost in how he's feeling. "This all is okay, right?" You ask, just to make sure. Your hand slides from his chest down to his hip, slipping a finger barely underneath the band of his boxers.

"Oh yeah," he sighs. "Keep going." 

You comply, lowering your mouth to gently flick your tongue on his right nipple. His reaction is immediate, a whimper that nearly sends you to the high heavens, a strong tingly feeling surging through your crotch. 

"Fuck," the word sounded so obscene yet sweet coming from him, "that's good." 

Smiling triumphantly, you continue with your plan. Gently licking and sucking ever so slightly on his chest until he's a moaning mess, his grip on your hips getting tighter and you start to feel his cock straining in his pants. 

"(Y/N), wait, wait," 

You immediately perk up and begin to worry. "I'm sorry, did I-" 

"No," he nearly laughs. "If you keep doing that, I'm gonna cum in my pants."

You sheepishly look away, "oh," 

"(Y/N), it's okay," Mark says softly, his hands coming to your chest to unclip your overalls, "let's make this about you, too." 

You're speechless as he slowly guides you to stand up, the loose shortalls falling to the floor. His eyes are almost immediately glued to your panties, and you nearly forgot you were wearing your Avengers themed underwear today, the A symbol brandished proudly on the front.

Mark is grinning at you now. "Please tell me there are Avengers on your butt."

Whimpering out of embarrassment, you hide your face in your hands and you drop to your knees in front of him. Mark kisses your forehead, gently taking hold of your wrists again so you can't hide your face. 

"It's okay, I really like them. Come and sit on my lap again, please?" 

Once you realize how you're sitting, you look up at Mark. He's towering over you, and you like that he is looking down at you. "Do you not want me to-" 

Mark shakes his head gently. "Not this time. I just need you in the real way right now." 

When those words reach your ears, you know you're whipped. Standing and stepping out of the jeans pooled beneath you, you clamour back onto Mark's lap. Instantly he's back to kissing you, his hands now freely roaming up the sides of your body, softly. Like in your dream. 

Before Mark can take off your shirt, you both began pressing harder against each other, causing you to moan into the kiss. It felt good to feel his clothed cock over your panties, one less layer preventing complete feeling. 

"Fuck, I wanted to drag this out," Mark says in between kisses that are growing in intensity, "I can almost feel how wet you are and my pants are still on,"

"Take them off, please?" You ask, borderline begging. Mark smiles up at you and doesn't hesitate in complying. You balance on your knees with your hands on Mark's chest as he slides his hands between you both to unbutton and wriggle out of his pants, bringing his boxers with them. Once his cock is free, it sits flush and hard against his abdomen. You find yourself unable to peel your eyes away from it.

"Like what you see?" He jokes, gripping the shaft and moaning once he gives it a couple strong tugs. "Fuck, need you.."

"Mm," you're barely able to form a response, especially when Mark hooks his fingers against your shirt, coaxing you to lift up your arms and allow it to slide off. Next is your bra, and you help him unclip the back as he presses soft kisses to the swell of your breasts.

"God, you're beautiful, I'm so glad I have you," Mark then takes your hands to lace your fingers with his. Slowly you sink your body back down to rest against his cock, moving your hips ever so slightly, sliding the fabric of your panties against his bare member.

"Mark," you whimper, thrusting forward a little stronger. "I really want you to…"

"To what?" Mark asked, his voice husky and his pupils blown with lust. His lips meet yours one more time. 

"Fuck me, please," 

Mark licks his lips and groans. "Just wait a little, gotta make sure.." he lets go of your hands, leaving them to rest again on his shoulders. His own trail down your sides, causing you to squirm and whimper at the touch, your skin incredibly sensitive. He soon takes a hold of your panties, sliding them down your legs. "Fuck, look, it's sticking to your underwear, that's so hot…"

You look down, and you notice a tiny string of wetness still attached to your underwear. You almost want to hide your face in the crook of Mark's shoulder, but instead, he coaxes you to stand long enough to rid your legs of your panties. 

"Look at you," he whispers, making you acutely aware that you're completely naked in front of him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," you look him in the eye, straddling his lap once more and leaning against him for a quick and intimate hug. "I've just never been naked in front of anyone before."

"Me neither, it's okay," he says softly. "Can I touch you?" 

"Yes," you suck in a sharp breath as Mark trails a finger down your stomach. As soon as he reaches your crotch, you feel like you could explode into flames. You think this is the first time Mark has really hesitated, but you're fine with it. 

"Like this," you say softly, using your hand to guide his. Gathering some wetness on his fingers, you guide him to rub a few tiny circles on your clit before you let him take over.

"Good?" He asks, continuing the movement until you nod, sighing. It felt amazing that you were finally getting to some relief of the ache that's been building inside your abdomen. Soon there's another jolt of pleasure running through you as Mark slips a finger inside you. 

"Fuck, Mark," you whine, pressing your forehead to his. You can feel his breath on you, ghosting your lips against his own. Once Mark adds a second finger, you feel like his soft movements could make you cum right then and there. He's fucking you ever so slowly with his fingers that you could nearly call it torture. "Please, I think… I think I'm ready," 

"O-okay," Mark stutters for a moment, and it feels just as good when his fingers slip out. "We can go slow, right?"

"Any way you want," you answer, pecking his lips again. 

"Okay," he sighs sweetly, guiding your hips downward with one hand and lining himself up with the other. "God, I can already feel it," he whines, feeling the tip of his leaking cock nudging your entrance. "Better than what I dreamed."

Ever so slowly, you're sinking down onto him. There's a bit of a stretch and a little bit of pain, but you work through it as best you can. Mark is clenching his jaw, eyes shut tightly. His hands are gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, and his breathing has picked up to wanton panting. 

"Fuck, fuck, (Y/N), this is so good, it feels so good to be inside," His words cause you to pulse around him, making you both cry out. Without warning Mark's hips snap upward, his voice slowly groaning out more curse words, following your cry of surprise. "Fuck, I'm sorry, are you okay?"

You wince but nod at him once he opens his eyes. "Yeah, I'm okay. I think. I think we can move." 

"Okay. I want to fuck you, is that alright?" 

You nod, your face burning. You brace yourself, hands balancing on the back of the couch and gripping the soft blanket. When Mark starts to move, you can hear your wetness squelching and his accompanying quiet moans of 'fuck, that's hot.' Mark leans forward, his arms coming to broadly trap you in a hug as he slowly thrusts upward to meet with your pelvis. He presses wanton and open-mouthed kisses to your neck, and you can feel him smiling faintly every time you say his name. 

You know for sure that you've quickly given up most of your ability to hold yourself up. Even though you're full of energy and are being consumed by a swirl of wanton feelings, the constant build of pleasure in your abdomen and the contracting of your pussy around Mark every time any noise came out of him left you feeling like a ragdoll. Mark is holding you up through his hug, and because of how your chests are squished together, you can feel him breathe.

"Mark," you managed to cry out once his slow thrusts began to grow faster and more needy, "Mark, I'm close," 

"Please tell me you're gonna cum first, fuck, (Y/N), please cum first!" Mark is losing his rhythm now, crying out stuttered moans between his begging for you to cum. 

"Mark, don't stop, please… I'm gonna cum," You're unable to feel embarrassment from the obscenities leaving your mouth as the pressure that's been building inside you reaches its peak, your pussy rapidly pulsing around Mark's cock. Your eyes are rolling back as clear ecstasy washes over you, sharp spikes of pleasure eventually dulling.

"Fuck, tight, need more, fuck! Fuck, (Y/N), I'm gonna cum too, fuck, I'm cumming!" You're nearly about to begin whimpering from overstimulation before you feel Mark's cock still. It hardened even further, twitching inside of you and following it was the warmth of his cum. 

Slowly, you both come down to reality, Mark gently kissing your neck as you lay nearly limp on him, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on your back. There is a clear sheen of sweat between you, and soon it becomes a little uncomfortable.

"Hey, do you think you can sit up? I need to get some stuff to get you clean," Mark's voice is calm and sweet, if not still a little ragged. 

"I think so," you manage to answer, trying your best to balance again on your knees, your whole body starting to tremble. Mark's softening cock slides out, a dollop of his cum following. Somehow, you feel less complete without him there.

"Let me help," Mark says softly, gently guiding you to lay down on the couch. Once he knows you're comfortable, he pulls on his boxers and wanders to the counter. 

You're watching him with hooded eyes as he reaches into one of the cupboards, pulling out a small pack of baby wipes, following with dampening two of the washcloths in the sink. 

"I got these on the way back last night and that's how Johnny figured out what I wanted," he said sheepishly as he came back to you, kissing you softly before kneeling down and opening up the little packet. "He had the idea of bringing that blanket." 

"I really didn't expect that to happen," you say, taking in a sharp breath when you feel coolness over your thighs as Mark cleans you up. "Thank you."

"Anything for you," he said, passing you the damp washcloth. "Just so we both don't look like we just had sex." 

You nod, taking the cloth and dabbing it over your forehead and chest. Once your fatigue begins to fade, you sit up and watch Mark sitting cross-legged on the floor, wiping away the layer of sweat from his chest. His eyes meet yours, and the way he smiles at you makes you tear up. 

"Hey, what's wrong?" Mark immediately looks concerned, standing and taking a seat next to you. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, of course," you wipe a tear away with your hand, "I just really love you." In that moment you feel more vulnerable than you ever had in your life. Naked, scarred and crying in front of your soulmate. 

Mark's smile returns quickly, pecking a quick kiss to your cheek. "I love you, too, (Y/N)." His eyes are sparkling again, something that makes your heart ache even more, but in a good way. "Come on, let's get you dressed." 

Soon he is standing again, coaxing you to join him. He helps you slip your underwear back on, making an idle comment and bearing a giant grin when he realizes that there really are Avengers characters on the butt of your panties.

Mark takes extra care in making sure you were comfortable and your bra was sitting properly on your chest. He blew raspberries on your tummy, grinning as you laughed. Honestly, the thought that should have been in your mind was completely dismissed in the sweet moments of Mark helping you get dressed. 

"Now I'm hungry," you say as you finish putting on your shortalls, laughter on your lips, pretending to pout at Mark as he slips on his shirt, tucking it tightly back into his pants. 

Mark nods, "yeah, me too. We can get some food in the green room. Here, you have a twisty strap," Mark approaches you once more and unclips one of your overall buttons, straightening out the strap and smoothing it along your shoulder. "There, all better." 

"Thank you," you look back over the room, noticing a backpack that wasn't yours sitting next to the couch. "Is that yours?"

Mark nodded. "Yeah. After the show, I'm gonna come back here to grab it. I just have to fold the blanket and put away the washcloths." 

"I can help you," you say, turning around go grab the blanket and fold it, but Mark gently takes your hand to stop you once you try to reach for the backpack to stuff it inside.

"It's okay, you can help me after. We should get something to eat now," Mark is smiling fondly at you, nodding toward the door. Huffing a tiny sigh you agree, putting the folded blanket down on the couch and following him to slip on your shoes, grab your lanyard and backpack, heading out the door.

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Precious Inexperience

A/N: Welp. Should I be posting this on Easter? Probably not. This was written under the influence of the lack of sleep and the over-abundance of wine. This is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​’s “What’s Old is New Again" Challenge. I used the prompt #14,  “I do not know how to kiss or I would kiss you. Where do the noses go?” - Ingrid Bergman 

Pairing: King!Robb Stark x F!Reader

Rating: M for DARK THEMES including dub-con, death, death of children, Robb being a dick, a bit of smut, and canon-typical sexism

Warnings: Again, dub-con/dubious consent, talk of pregnancy, men being terrible-PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: The King in the North was now King of the Seven Kingdoms. Peace reigned. But Kings need heirs.

The King in the North they called him. King in the North even as he sat on the Iron Throne. Robb Stark was King of the Seven Kingdoms—won with bloody battles and dead wives. Alliances were sewn with marriages and Robb had easily taken a wife when it meant more men for his armies, more food to feed them, a stronger claim to the throne that had taken the head of his father all those years ago.  A Frey girl. She’d been pretty. Pretty for Frey with small hips and a nice smile. She died in childbed—their son along with her.  Then there was Margaery Tyrell. The beauty of the Reach. With the Reach under his command, Robb was unstoppable. Food was plentiful even as Winter came and went and the remaining forces loyal to the Crown starved and died. 

Yes, she made a beautiful queen for a year. When her face turned purple and blood poured from her eyes, everyone cried “poison! Poison!” and pointed fingers at the Greyjoys, still refusing to bend the knee to their new king. No one ever truly knew who had murdered The Gracious Queen Margaery, but the heads of hundreds of Greyjoy bannermen decorated the pikes outside the Red Keep until the last Greyjoy, Yara, finally accepted his rule.

The Realm had peace, it seemed. The Dragon Queen had stayed in Essos with her army and her dragons and the Wildlings to the North had been eliminated under the command of his bastard brother, Jon Snow.

Peace, they said.

But, Kings need heirs.

The Westerlands submitted their prettiest maids from the best houses. The Stormlands, too. The Vale followed, along with the Riverlands, and the North. And Dorne, who had skillfully played both sides of the board during the war with the lions, had been slow to send a proposal.

The Martells were skittish, for good reason, to marry into another royal family. But that did not mean they did not want a Dornish woman to marry their new king. Robb had been kind to Dorne; knew their worth and history. He met with Prince Doran in the Water Gardens, personally, to broker an alliance and laughed with Ellaria Sand and Prince Oberyn at their feasts. The Northern King knew the power Dorne held. It had been no secret that Robb had sought Dorne’s council on many things.

But it came as a surprise to Y/N when Prince Doran sent for her and her father to come to the Water Gardens and meet with him. Her house was small and held modest power, nestled on the westernmost coast of Dorne, just south of House Dayne of Starfall. It was mostly a small naval fleet port and trading post with merchants from the Reach and Westerlands. As the fifth child of her family, she was often over-looked in many regards as her elder sister was groomed to one day take her place as head of the family. It was no bother to her, mostly. She was able to read and spend her time racing horses. Her Northern-bred mother was aghast when she had first learned of a few Dornish customs, but had softened immensely when she learned her firstborn, her daughter, had not made her a terrible wife. She’d produced an heir, after all. But the one frivolity she could not and would not condone was any sort of romantic interludes. She did not care that the rest of Dornish nobility embraced paramours and bastard children. 

Y/N and her seven siblings were raised with Northern sensibilities in that regard. No men were left near her unsupervised. She was given little education on the art of romance other than the books she had to smuggle away from her mother’s prying eyes and, because she cared little for most people, it did not bother her in the slightest.

Marriage was not something she thought about often. Her house was secure with her sister and her marriage to Prince Doran’s son, Trystane. Her sister was pregnant with her second child already, much to the happiness of her family and the Martells. Her elder brothers were prosperous knights and her younger siblings were contemplating becoming maesters or a septa. The family coffers were plentiful. She needn’t marry for advantage in any regard.

Or so she had been led to believe.

When Prince Doran reached for her hand with a soft smile, she gave it to him readily, even as his heir, Princess Arianne could not offer a comforting expression. “The King has asked for a bride. You shall be our envoy.”

There was no argument. No brokering. No tears.

It was a strange sort of fog that clouded her mind as her father thanked Prince Doran and Princess Arianne for “the honor” and then tried to ready her for the trip to King’s Landing and the long days spent in the wheelhouse on the journey north. She hardly remembered any of it. The ladies maids were frantic about her, as they helped her dress in a pretty golden gown and pressed sweet-smelling perfume to her neck and wrists. All of it felt like it was happening to someone else. Not to her. Things like this didn’t happen to her. She would read and race horses and get scolded by her mother for smelling of hay or stealing berries from the kitchens.

It was a cattle show, if she had to give it a name. The potential brides were scattered about the throne room, their fathers at their sides, all primped and ready for inspection.

“Stand up straight, girl,” her father chided, a soft tone betraying his love for his second daughter.

“Yes, father,” Y/N murmured in return and did as he bid. “But, truly, you cannot believe he will even look at me.” She had always thought herself plain. It was no bother, really. Her sister was the heir and beauty and it took all the pressure of being a lady away. Her sister was kind to her, too. Perfect in every way. If she were standing here, Y/N was sure she would have been proposed to by now. And her younger sister was so enthralled with religion she hardly spoke of anything else.

“Prince Doran knows the King very well. He chose you for a reason.”

“Fine. But when we get sent home, I-”

“Your Grace.” Her father bowed and she quickly followed with a curtsey, grimacing at not noticing when the young King had stepped in their direction. “May I present to you my daughter, Lady Y/N.”

The King was handsome, obviously. His russet hair curled over the tops of his ears and even with the growing beard, he still had a young man’s roguish charm. Her heart suddenly constricted as he held out a hand toward her and her fingers shook as she placed her hand in his. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.” His words were murmured, beard scratching against her fingers. 

“L-likewise, Your Grace.”

Robb stood straight with a smirk and there was a gleam in his eye that made her stomach twist. He nodded to her father and walked away to greet the next lady as she deflated, breath rushing.

“Well, I hope are happy, Father. I did my part on behalf of Dorne.” She was ready to go home. Now. The look the King gave her left her unsettled. There was a darkness behind his pretty eyes, one she had only seen when faced with feral animals that would howl in the night outside her family’s castle walls.

But then some man in a grey and black surcoat, embroidered with a snarling direwolf, stepped to her father’s side and whispered in his ear before his unfamiliar eyes flickered to her. The exchange lasted barely a few seconds and soon the man was walking away, following his king through the shadows.

“What is it?”

Her father frowned and dropped his voice to a low whisper she had to strain to hear even as he bent to her level. “You’ve been requested to meet His Grace in the gardens tonight.”

“Tonight?” She parroted. “Will you be there?”

“No. This is to see if you would be compatible.” Even as the words left his mouth, she knew he did not understand them.

“Must I go?”

Her father nodded. Sealing her fate.

                                                           **

The gardens were quiet except for the chirping of an incessant bird hidden somewhere in the greenery. The only other person she had seen while following the map she’d been handed just after dinner, was a guard at the entrance who looked at her with hard eyes from beneath his helmet before letting her venture in to the twisting, turning paths of green.

She squinted at the crudely drawn map in the dim moonlight and hoped she had found the right place. There had been a statue, a few turns ago, of the King’s sister, Sansa, holding the head of Cersei Lannister on a platter. Before that, a statue of the slain Stark boys, Rickon and Bran, astride their direwolves—a dead lion was crumpled under their paws. Arya had to be somewhere, too. Y/N was sure of it. She wondered what her statue depicted her doing—Arya was known throughout the Realm for her vicious nature and love for her family. She had set sail to the West not long ago with her new husband, Lord Gendry Baratheon.

She sat down on the stone bench and folded the map, putting it away before chewing at the side of her thumb. Whether it was boredom or trepidation, she wasn’t sure. The entire situation seemed…off kilter. There was something bubbling beneath the surface she didn’t understand.

“My Lady.”

She quickly stood and curtseyed as the king walked around the corner and into the small clearing. “Your Grace.”

He reached for her hand and pressed another kiss to her knuckles. “I’ve been told you are the fifth of eight children.”

She frowned at the strange start of the conversation but did nothing to deter it. “Yes, Your Grace. Two sisters and five brothers.”

Robb hummed and nodded, eyes raking down her form. “And your sister? She’s pregnant with her second child. After only two years of marriage.”

She nodded. “Yes. They are hoping for another boy.”

Robb’s eyes closed and another smile touched his lips, this one much more relaxed, as he settled on the bench behind him. “Good. That’s good.” She moved to sit beside him when he pressed a hand against her stomach and pushed her back. Her feet stumbled and he caught her at the waist, pressing his fingers into her skin with a grip that stung. “No. I want to look at you.”

Standing tall, she tried to even out her breath as she felt his eyes start to roam. His hands moved to her hips and his thumbs dug into bottom of her stomach, pulling a gasp from her lips. “Y-your Grace?”

“These…” He squeezed her hips. “These could do nicely.”

She looked down at her hips he seemed to be so attentive to, wondering what he could possibly mean. “Princess Arianne said I had my mother’s hips, perfect for children.” The compliment had always been a strange one, but the Princess assured her it was good.

Robb dragged her close, feet once again tangling and almost careening her forward as the young king kept her mostly steady. “Your father and Prince Doran have assured me that you are pure. I will ask you this only once. If you lie, I will know and the consequences will be severe. Do you understand me?”

“Y-yes, Your Grace.” Her heart was hammering a painful beat against her ribs as he looked up at her. “I understand.”

“Have you ever been with another man?” His eyes pinned her, cold and knowing.

“No. I have never even…” her words trailed off as heat washed down her spine.

“Finish what you were saying.” Another squeeze to her hips.

“I have never been kissed, Your Grace, let alone laid with a man. I am afraid my inexperience will only disappoint you.”

Robb’s answering smile reminded her of his family’s sigil; sharp, snarling teeth. As he stood, his hands slid up her sides, thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts, and dragged her close. “You are mistaken, my lady. You have made me very happy.” And he kissed her then, stealing her breath as he pried her lips apart and shoved his tongue into her mouth. Shaking hands found purchase in his dark-colored tunic as she tried to keep up with his mouth that seemed determined to devour her whole.

                                                             **

The examination by the maester had left her shaking. “She is untouched, Your Grace,” the maester said to Robb as he waited outside her chambers. “As promised.”

The door hadn’t even closed and he was basically shouting her purity to the halls of the Keep. She curled into a ball on her featherbed and drew a pillow to her chest as if that would help take away the embarrassment and the discomfort from the Maester’s previously prodding instruments and fingers. She barely heard them speaking of fertility, her mother’s, her sister’s. Hers. Her bed dipped with the weight of someone sitting but she didn’t turn to see who it was, expecting her father.

“Could I have some tea, please, papa?” The old nickname for her father slipped out. “I feel like…I feel like my body doesn’t belong to me anymore.”

“It doesn’t.”

She sat straight at the sound of the king’s voice, fright grasping at her heart. “Your Grace, I-I-I-”

Robb suddenly loomed over her, legs bracketing her thighs and pressing her against her pillows. His hand slithered its way under her chemise to press against her bare stomach and she felt her heart try to lodge itself up in her throat. The scent of him, of leather and spice and ale, flooded her senses as he leaned closer to breathe his words against her mouth. “This belongs to me. All of it. All of you. I will make you round with my children as many times as your body can take if it pleases me.”

“Y-your Grace-” Her scared eyes looked over his shoulder to see the door to her chambers had been shut, sealing her away from the world.

“You will give me an heir that is mine without question and then you will give me more. More children to fill these cursed halls with something other than the whispers of politics and subterfuge.” He sat back on his heels watched her heaving chest with a smile that looked too soft for him now. “You have made me a very happy man, Y/N.”

Her name sounded strange on his tongue.

And she hated how much she liked it.

                                                           **

The ceremony had been ornate and befitting of the young king and his new queen. She traded her father’s colors for black and grey and silver and felt the snarling direwolf pressing against her back with the new bridal cloak even as his pretty lips pressed against hers and the crowd cheered.

She was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

His third queen.

The festivities came and went and soon she was alone with him in his chambers and he hardly kissed her again before her dress was discarded and her chemise torn to near shreds. And it hurt. Every slap of his hips as he rutted against her brought her closer to some strange precipice she couldn’t name, cresting between pleasure and pain. Coiling tighter and tighter in her stomach like a terrible snake.

“You’ll give me a boy,” he said, breath hot against her ear as he dragged her ever closer. “You’ll give me children.”

“I will,” she whimpered in return, fingers trying to find a grip on his slick back. A scream nearly wrenched its way from her throat as he sunk his teeth into her shoulder. “I will!”

His thrusts turned animalistic and her head nearly hit the carved headboard as he pushed her further and further up the overstuffed featherbed and then, with a final thrust, he sunk his deepest yet into her and stayed there as warmth shot through her.

And her coil snapped, legs shaking and eyes rolling with convulsions she couldn’t stop.

He stayed inside her for a while, prick softening. And it was the gentlest he’d been with her since the ceremony, letting his hands roam her torso, sponging kisses to her face and breasts, murmuring how she’d give him an heir.

“I will,” she said again, words not her own, body still reeling with aftershocks. “I will.”

Robb held her face in his hands and kissed her slowly, almost repentantly. “You will. Or you will see The Stranger just as Roslin and Margaery did. Do you understand?”

It was only after she had ‘accepted’ his proposal had she learned that Roslin had birthed a boy that could never have been Robb’s son, born too early to have been conceived by him, and Margaery had been barren. She nodded and gently pushed the hair away from his eyes, now uncaring that they held very little warmth when they looked at her. Maybe they would when she gave him a son. Maybe he could love her then.

When he finally pulled out of her, he canted her hips up and shoved a pillow beneath them to keep her aloft. “Stay like that until morning.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

A/N: Well, there you go. Please tell me what you think. 

Part two

[dontbipanicjonsa]

I may have to go episode by episode for S8 but anyway here's my impression from episode 1.

Status of heart-eyes:

Eh. It's hard to say. In the beginning, no. He doesn't look at Dany twice. But he is overall more relaxed and friendly with her, at least in that scene where they're hanging out together (Varys, Tyrion and Davos watching from above) and when they reach the waterfall. Could there be a few heart eyes in that scene???? Sure, if you wanna be lenient. Kit can do better tho.

Maybe, and I could be wrong about this, but Jon tends to focus on her when it's just the two of them. When there are others around tho....he honestly doesn't look at her much. Not for support, not for anything.

I mean he gave Bran bigger heart eyes. Pls.

Showing not telling:

Jon riding the dragon (ugh). You know how we go on rollercoasters and it makes us shit bricks but also feels euphoric? You remember Harry Potter riding Buckbeak and laughing and yelling in joy? I only see Jon looking tense, scared, and yelling yes, but not in joy.

And then he says, "You've ruined horses for me". Um......is this like those courtesies Sansa used to say that she absolutely didn't mean?

On that note- Drogon definitely thinks Jon is sus. That entire sequence, from Dany flirting with Jon to him kissing her to him watching Drogon watching him while kissing her, gives the vibe that something is wrong. Something more is up than meets the eye.

Dark Dany:

Feels inevitable at this point. The North is clearly hostile to her, and that frames her as an unwelcome outsider. Unwelcome being the key word here. She's feeling the heat, and she does NOT like it.

The smile that she gives when the dragons come and scare the shit out of the common folk in the intro scene is telling. The crowds are terrified and running for cover, but she's oblivious. She's like a proud mother smiling at her kid for making babies cry.

Sansa vs Dany:

Oh boy.

Honestly? Sansa didn't even do anything much. She didn't go out of her way to make Dany feel welcome or anything, but she did acknowledge her as the Queen ("Winterfell is yours")...what else does Dany want?

Sansa asks wtf do dragons eat. Perfectly valid question. Why the fuck is Dany being so aggressive???

Dany SAID she doesn't need Sansa to be her friend, but Sansa has not outright disrespected Dany anyway. I think.

Ok, there's something to be said here about disliking someone and not respecting someone. Danaerys implies that Sansa needs to respect her (if she wants to live) but personally, I think she means Sansa needs to like her.

Jon:

Drogon is right. Jon is acting sus. In the meeting where Lyanna tears Jon a new one, Jon pretty clearly says he gave up his crown because he needed Dany's support to fight against the dead.

So....but he bent the knee AFTER Dany pledged her support. You're telling me he didn't trust that promise? Ha. For good reason too, since Dany did sound momentarily dubious about her priorities in the Dragon Pit (S7).

This is also what he tells Sansa, that he needed the support that only Danaerys can provide. Then he asks her if she has any faith in him at all (complete with a kicked puppy look). Sus...?

Idk, there are a surprising few instances that make Jon look not particularly sold on Dany, or like he's internally conflicted. For example, at the crypts. He's looking at Ned's statue with great intensity...thinking about the WW or Pol!Jon brooding? We'll never know.

The most telling thing, I think, was how utterly unsurprised he looked when Dany said her, "if she can't respect me" line. I mean, if he thinks Dany is so great then why is he not at all surprised when she threatens his sister (who he has promised to protect)?

Jon and Sansa:

Sansa smiles at Jon when he comes in coz she's happy to see him, but she is still PISSED. Her look is pure ice when Jon looks at her for protection from Lyanna's verbal murder.

Odd thing is that like Dany, Jon too is overly worked up about Sansa's reactions. What did she even do.??? Give him a cold look? What did she do that Jon could have used Arya's help in dealing with? But then we reach the crux of the matter (I think). Jon says, "I'm her family too". That's the issue, isn't it? He needs her validation. That's why he asks her if she has faith in him too. He doesn't talk like that with anyone else.

The look on Jon's face when Arya tells him not to forget that "he's family too" is telling. Some internal conflict IS there.

And Sansa. She's JEALOUS. She's angry at Jon for giving away their home. She's extremely wary of Dany (for good reason). She's having an all round bad time, because of no mistake of her own (yet).

She could have maybe pretended to like Dany a bit more tho. That's why it seems like she's jealous, and not just wary and angry.

Sansa asks Jon if he loves Dany, and Jon visibly gulps. I'm inclined to say no, he doesn't.

True ruler and giving up the crown:

Feels good to know that I was right. Sam says pretty much exactly what I said about S7, that Jon is a true king because he's willing to give up his throne to save his people, but IS DANY ???

Is Bran planning Jonerys breakup ? (Click bait title)

The short answer is yes. The long answer is why the fuck did he think that the right time to tell Jon his parentage is right after Sam has found out Jon's supposed Queen murdered his father and brother? Seems almost like Bran wants Sam to really lay it on Jon. Tell him why Dany is a bad idea and express some opinions that Sam may have otherwise kept to himself.

On that note, Jon gave Sam bigger heart eyes than he did to Dany.

Side note- Lena Headey YOU ARE BRILLIANt.